


These Dreams

by rachelladeville



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cannon Divergent, Canon Universe, Dreams, Gay Sex, M/M, Pining Dean, Romance, Season 11 Spoilers, The highlights of Season 11 but with Destiel, Visions, non-con elements, supernatural universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-17 11:30:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5867584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelladeville/pseuds/rachelladeville
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the darkness spreads out over the world and takes hold, Dean and Sam are puzzled as to how to proceed. Castiel is trying to decide where he fits in, helping when he can. And Dean is having strange dreams...</p><p>Essentially, this is a canonical season 11 but with Destiel laced in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snowflakes on Eyelashes

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to MoniJune for editing tirelessly!

Having Cas in the bunker had been interesting. Seeing the angel lethargic and roaming about in a bathrobe was equal parts funny and disturbing. Dean was itching to get out and do something, anything. Marathoning another series on Netflix was simply not an option, even if he did enjoy seeing Cas relax a bit.

Desperate for something to do, he'd washed every car in the bunker. But as it turns out… Dean was in luck. Sam had wind of something. It was thin, but it was enough to get Dean behind the wheel, rain pelting Baby’s new wax job, and lonely highway spread out before them as they headed for Quaker Valley, Oregon.

“Duane Markam, the local sheriff,” read Sam from the laptop perched on his knees, “was found in the woods a couple days ago. His body was mauled so they chocked it up to an animal attack, but I’m thinkin’,”

“Werewolf…” Dean interrupted sagely.

“Yeah, maybe.” Agreed Sam, looking a little uncertain.

“Yeah, you're right, that is thin,” husked Dean, watching the rain beat the windshield.

“Probably nothing, huh?”

“Probably not,” agreed Dean with a nod, but bored as he was with the bunker he added, “Oregon here we come.”

Sam reached into the cooler in the back seat and pulled out a plastic lidded cup of yuck.

“What is that?” Dean asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“Smoothie,” answered Sam, unrepentant.

“Dude. Where’s the _beer_?” pushed Dean – clearly implying that Sam had a malfunction somewhere if he preferred a kale smoothie to a cold one.

Just when they were about to throw down over it, the phone rang.

“It’s Cas,” said Sam, juggling his smoothie to answer.

Sam put the phone on speaker, and the three were able to have a short conversation. Cas had done some research to see if there were any other cases in the part of Oregon they were headed to, but had come up empty handed. The boys reminded him to be resting and take it easy. They reminded Cas that their current hunt was a “milk run.” A simple, easy case that required no assistance. He agreed to relax and watch some TV but told the boys to keep in touch.

Dean, being Dean, took advantage of their light itinerary to make an unscheduled stop. He pulled up to a roadside bar with the intention of knocking back a few with his brother.

Sam, however, had been a wet blanket. He’d conceded to the pit-stop but declined to go in the Roadhouse with Dean – opting instead to hit the neighboring diner with his laptop and dig into the lore. More casework. So utterly boring. Some days it was surprising that they shared any genes at all.

Dean strutted into the bar looking for a good time. True to form, he found one. He hustled a few games of pool and took a fist to the chin for his big win. It was a small price to pay for the easy $300 he pocketed. He’d used his winnings to buy several rounds of drinks for a tall blonde with arching eyebrows who knew how to swivel her hips as she strutted the floor in her cowgirl boots. But her bear of a boyfriend put a crimp in that action quick, and Dean found himself sitting at the bar nursing a whiskey as the hour grew late and the crowd dwindled around him.

He chatted briefly with a cowboy in the stool next to him who had a few beers but soon found his eyes drooping and his head growing heavy. For some reason, his mind wandered to Cas. They probably should’ve brought him along. This would be a nice easy-paced trip, and bars were always more fun with the angel along. True, most of the fun was at Cas’ expense, but it’s never dull when he joined them.

With his head resting on his chin, Dean found his dry eyes closing to rest for a few moments. Next thing he knew, he was wandering between thick, green pines. The night sky was dark blue overhead and lit with stars. His breath fogged out in front of him as he crunched through snow on a narrow trail. He could practically smell the pine and moss in the air and his nostrils burned with the cold. Around him, snowflakes danced like pixies, not enough wind to give them any direction as they spiraled to Earth in a slow and easy tumble.

It was quite picturesque, and Dean found himself enjoying the peaceful surroundings. Like a dream, there was reality all around him, but the logic of the real world didn’t press in. He didn’t wonder how he had come to be in this place or what he was walking towards. He simply accepted the reality and went with it, enjoying the beauty of the winter landscape and crisp coolness on his face and hands.

As he followed the curving trail around a bend, he found the trail widening out to reveal a park-like setting. The path now boasted black cast-iron lamp posts which, glowed warmly from behind frosty glass. Dean walked under them until he came to a bench, pausing when he realized it was occupied.

Ethereal blue eyes gazed up at him, body of the trench-coated stranger lost in the shadow of night, while the face of Castiel was bathed in the warm light of a lamp post. Dean was lost in the depths of those eyes for moment, as he usually was. He tucked his chin and forced his eyes to the empty seat on the bench next to Cas and nodded as if to ask permission to sit.

Cas waited expectantly and greeted him with, “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey Cas, what’s up?”

“It’s very nice here, isn’t it?” he asked in a quiet voice, looking around as if he too had just found himself in this place.

“Yeah.” Dean followed Cas’ gaze down the path, which seemed to lead to a lake or river of some kind. He could just see the glistening of smooth water with the light of lamp posts reflecting in it. Beyond that shore, everything was misty and hidden from view.

“How are you, Dean?”

Cas was looking at him as if he could pluck the answer from Dean's head. Perhaps he could. Dean answered anyway, “Fine.”

Cas gave him a dismissive nod. He wasn’t fine. Cas knew it. No one needed to say it out loud.

“How are you, Cas?”

“I’m tired Dean. More than I’ve ever felt before,” he said with a long sigh.

“I’m sorry buddy,” said Dean giving him a thump on the leg with his open hand. He rested it there for a moment as a sign of reassurance. It was hard to pull it back.

Cas’ face was warm against the cold night as his soulful eyes turned from the distant water and focused on Dean. “It’s not your fault, Dean.”

“Maybe not. But the darkness is roaming the Earth, and that’s on me,” Dean said firmly. He looked away from Cas as he said it, not wanting the angel to see how he was really feeling. And after all these years, Cas read him pretty well.

“You’re scared,” Cas said softly. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. So are you. You’d be a fool not to be,” Dean said gruffly. “Every damn time I try to fix one thing… I make something else worse. I’m like the little Dutch-boy with his finger in the dam.”

“I don’t understand that…”

“Yeah,” interrupted Dean, “I know.”

“You feel lost.”

“Maybe,” Dean conceded, “I have no idea how to fight this… where to even start.”

“I understand. It’s difficult to feel that you are meant to do something when you can’t even begin to understand it.”

Dean nodded assent and turned from Cas’ weighted stare to watch the snowflakes fall, on a background of dark green trees that encroached the other side of the clearing. It wasn’t snowing hard, but the flakes coming down were heavy and wet and piling up fast. Even his footprints up to this bench were already covering over.

“When I first disobeyed,” began Cas with a deep breath, “It changed everything. I’d always been so sure, following orders of a grand design with an infinite and all-knowing heavenly guide being ultimately responsible for the fulfillment of destiny. I was the mighty sword of a higher power. I’ve fallen so far.”

“Cas,” Dean began as he saw where this lament was going…

“I understand,” Cas interrupted, “what free will is now. And I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished together. But I have fears too, Dean. I don’t captain my ship. I have you with me for that. When I’ve stepped away from you… I’ve not handled my freedom responsibly. I’ve cost us lives, trust. So much more. And I find myself always fearful of losing you in that way again,” Cas said softly. “You and Sam,” he added.

“Are you thinking of doing something stupid, Cas?” asked Dean, raising his voice. Suddenly this was very reminiscent of other dreams. Cas had stalked into Dean's dreams before, and there was a very unique feeling to a dream that Cas was constructing, or entering. This dream had that feeling. Like Dean was a guest here – despite being in his own head, his own dream.

Suddenly, aware that he was dreaming, he sat up straighter. But then, when he looked over at Cas, he found the man intently staring back at him with soul-searching eyes. Memories of betrayal stung his cold face. He was having visions of Cas and Crowley striking up some kind of bargain to use or destroy the darkness. He looked at Cas’ face and tried to interpret the intent behind those glassy blue orbs. It was always so difficult to determine what Cas was thinking. If he were a chick… it would be so easy. Dean had a lifetime of experience with that. If a chick was looking at Dean the way Cas was looking at him – he’d know she wanted to be kissed. But with Cas it was…

 _Wait a damned minute_ – thought Dean. He’d been seeing that look in Cas’ eyes for years and years. Sometimes he’d even joked with Cas about the looks he gave Dean. Several times he’d laughed it off or teased the angel about giving Dean “fuck me” eyes. But what if that’s what they really were? What if those eyes that called out now for an embrace… were exactly what they appeared to be? No deeper meaning at all… just a desire to close the distance between them. There was a ring of truth to this thought. So much so that Dean felt himself swallow hard. His heart rate picked up, and he felt sweat form on his upper lip despite the cold. Was that even possible?

Dean avoided looking at Cas, choosing to focus on his feet instead. Looking at the ground as he shuffled his feet in the new fallen snow, Dean contemplated Cas’ words again, this time with a different meaning behind them.

“…I’ve stepped away from you before…”

“…I have you with me…”

“…fearful of losing you…”

It was easy to hear it now. Sam’s name had been tacked on like an afterthought. Cas didn’t come for Sam’s calls – only Dean’s. Sam had never had to lecture Cas about personal space – only Dean.

_Can this really be?_

Dean found the courage to look up at Cas once more. And the answer was so plain. Dean’s heart ached for wanting to get closer. He’d always wanted to. He always had to fight not to lean in close to Cas – that’s why he had chastised Cas so much about the personal space – because when Cas leaned in it was a battle not to follow suit. When Cas leaned in, Dean had to work not to lean in with him. As he was now. He needed to stop. He was leaning. Cas was leaning too. The knowledge of what was about to happen was so heavy that Dean felt the weight of it like an elephant on his chest.

His eyes flicked to Cas’ mouth. His lips were pink and chapped with cold. And his eyes… they hadn’t missed the movement. Cas had seen Dean look at his mouth. There was no going back now. Cas knew Dean was leaning in, and he knew why. Most importantly, Cas was still leaning closer.

And then it was just happening. Dean found his lips pressed to his Angel. With his eyes closed, it was no different from any other kiss he’d ever had. Warm. Soft. Sweet. A promise of more to come.

Dean found himself pulling away and opened his eyes. Cas’ eyes were still closed. A few snowflakes hung from his long lashes, and there were little piles of them in his hair and on his shoulders. Cas was so beautiful, it took Dean's breath away.

As Cas opened his eyes and met Dean’s, Dean was stunned by the fear in them. That’s when he felt a clap to his shoulder.

“C’mon, buddy, up ya go!” The smell of cigarettes and beer orientated Dean quickly to the Roadhouse. His head snapped up from where it had fallen onto his forearms at the edge of the bar. The bartender had moved out from behind the bar and was tugging him from the warmth of his fantasy or his dream or his daydream or whatever that was. Peanut shells cracked under his boots as he spun towards the bar and reached for his glass, downing the last of the whiskey.

“That’s $46.97 for the tab,” said the lumberjack of a bartender. Dean felt no need to coax a swing out of a third man tonight. He reached into his wallet and dropped three twenties on the bar.

“Thanks, man,” he said as he was “assisted” to the door.

The sun was just coming up as he staggered out into the parking lot and slid into the driver’s seat. “Mistakes were made…” he mumbled as he remembered dodging fists and wasting all but $180 of the $300 he’d won at pool last night.

Just then, his Spidey senses tingled. There was a babe nearby. He glanced to the backseat and came face to face with a hot naked blond. He averted his eyes… but not in a rush. He took a moment to rate the woman a solid 9 before turning to give privacy to his brother and the waitress who was now sliding back into her uniform in the backseat.

Dean smiled a little, glad that Sam had finally loosened up a bit. Then he rolled his eyes as his brother said his good-byes to her, irritated that Sam had gotten a piece of ass and he hadn’t.

As they rolled out of the lot, Dean cranked up some nostalgia on the stereo, coaxing Sam into joining him as he sang along to Bob Seger.  The daylight passed as they put miles behind them, their good mood hovering around Baby like a warm glow. They teased each other, ate shitty takeout, goofed off and sang to the radio. It was like old times.

The jovial feeling of the afternoon seemed to fade with the sun, though. And as they drove into the night, Sam began to talk again about his waitress from the night before. He’d tried to give her his number and she’d declined it – clearly willing to call a spade a spade.

“Gotta love the one-night-wonders,” Dean had chuckled.

But talking about her, women in general, brought Sam to a question that Dean hated to admit had been plaguing him for years.

“You’ve never wanted something more?”

“I’m sorry,” Dean replied acerbically, “Have you met us? We’re bound to a whopping zero in domestic life, man… goose eggs.”

“You don’t ever think about something,” prodded Sam, “not marriage or whatever, but something… maybe… with a hunter… ya know? Somebody who understands the life?”

Dean rolled his eyes and cut off the discussion with a short joke, “Have you not heard a single word Bob Seger’s been singin’ about?”

Then he opted for distraction, rather than continue to discuss relationships, “You’re tired, I can tell,” he said firmly. He told Sam he was going to gas up the car and suggested Sam hunker down in the backseat to get some sleep while Dean drove a little farther.

As Sammy napped in the back, Dean lost himself in his thoughts. Thoughts that teetered back and forth between a drunken fever-dream of kissing Castiel and the impending doom of a world swallowed by the darkness.

The trip to Oregon didn’t turn out to be quite the “milk-run” they’d thought it would be. Sam had confided that he’d started having visions again. And, the latest manifestation of the darkness was a new breed of ugly. It was a hybrid of werewolf and vampire… and it was hard to kill. The brothers had teetered back and forth on what to call it. Dean, always colorful, had made suggestions of were-pire and ghoul-pire.

But at the end of the day, the swarm of them in the local population had been the concern. Used to living on the fringes and keeping their numbers small to avoid detection… they were suddenly and aggressively turning humans to join their ranks. The reason? Fight the darkness. When even the were-ghoul-pires are afraid of something, and when they tell you through clenched fangs that “the darkness is coming,” it’s hard not to feel a chill run up your spine.

Having dispatched the alpha and witnessing the restoration of the other humans involved, they’d had a quick stop near the water to clean their wounds and shovel down some grub before starting the long drive back to the bunker. Dean had put on a brave face for Sammy… telling him Amara would be easy to find. It was, after all, just a matter of following bodies. She was growing fast and they would soon be piled in her wake.

With bodies and car beat to shit, they’d gotten back on the road. Rest had been short, though, another case pulling them out and showing them another side of Amara. The murders surrounding a museum at the original Lizzie Borden house had led them to Sydney the killer babysitter. Touched by Amara, she’d been granted the welcome gift of a soulless existence – free to be as bad as she wanted to be with no guilt. She’d practically been giddy with it. Icing on the cake? Len. His reaction to Amara was quite comical. But it had given them pause. Even without a soul, he was a decent guy. And the soulless shells that Amara had left behind had shown the brothers that her influence varied greatly from person to person. It only served to make her seem even more complex and unbeatable. Added to which indignity … she was growing. Fast.

Dean and Cas had spoken several times since Dean's dream. Cas wasn't acting any different and neither was Dean. But he thought of Cas more and more often now. The remembering of their dream-kiss crossed his mind daily and sometimes, he had to admit, it did things to him. If he was quiet and really pictured it happening, he’d get the spins in his stomach. He tried to focus on the work at hand. Amara. He’d felt her presence near them several times as they investigated in Fall River, it both chilled him and warmed him. It called to him. But even under the weight of her presence, the niggling image of Cas’ pink chapped lips – wet from having just been kissed – lingered in his mind. As did the image of his thick, dark eyelashes, fanned against his cheekbone with snowflakes perched over them like ornaments on a tree. Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that Cas knew of his dream, even if he didn't acknowledge it. He’d said nothing, and Dean had to admit that it may simply be in his head, but it seemed that Cas was looking at him a little differently since the dream. He wondered, again and again, if Cas had been there… seen it somehow… perhaps even been part of it.


	2. You Found My Perch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to MoniJune who helps with more than just punctuation!

You are the light I follow,  
You are the face of a faith I love  
Oh, darling believe in me.

You are the hymn I cover,  
You are my king, an ancient dove  
Oh, darling the fever in me!

I waited a while, I know.  
But I let it go, yes I let it go  
My fear is gone.

You are the hope I cherish,  
You are the care of a prayer I love  
Oh darling, believe in me  
Believe. In. Me.

Back in Fall River, Dean and Sam had been sniffing the dirt for days trying to pick up Amara’s trail. Unfortunately, it had gone cold. Sam had been pushing Dean to call Cas for help. Dean, for obvious reasons, was reluctant. He tried to guilt Sam into leaving the angel alone to recuperate, but Sam would not be dissuaded. Dean was avoiding speaking to Cas as much as possible; self-conscious around him now that he’d begun to really fantasize about him. But he’d run out of excuses, so he pulled out his phone.

 “Cas,” greeted Dean when he answered, “How you doin buddy?”

“I’m fine.”

Dean grimaced as he attempted small talk, “Find anything on Metatron?”

“Nothing on angel radio,” responded Cas. His voice was always deep but since Rowena’s spell, it was hoarse too. It sounded like he had a cold, but it was more than that.

“How long’s it been since you left the bunker?” asked Dean.

“Why would I leave?” the angel husked. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”

“Wait,” said Dean – hearing the TV in the background, “are you watching Jenny Jones?”

“It’s a rerun,” Cas sighed. “She’s just about to announce the paternity results.” There was a pause and then a slightly put-out angel actually spoke to the TV, “Jenny, he’s not ready to be a father.”

It was a little funny to listen. And a little pathetic. “Ok, I thought you were going with socially acceptable binge watching… ya know…The Wire… Game of Thrones…”

“Man can’t live on caviar alone, Dean.”

“Well, you sound weird, ok?” pressed Dean, “bad weird. Now, I’ve been down this road before. I’ve heard the siren song from the idiot box; and I’m tellin ya… whatever you’re lookin’ for, you won’t find it in there. Now do me a favor. Turn off the TV. Go outside and get some air.”

Cas groaned. Dean could hear it. “Look, we're in the dark here.” He went on, “I need ya back in the game, ok?”

Dean could feel the protest coming. So he ended the call, leaving Cas no choice but to comply or be a douche. And even at his worst, Cas wasn’t a douche. He’d come.

As he pocketed his phone, he felt bad for a moment. There was so much more he should be saying. But he shook it off and directed his attention to Sam, who had also been on a call.

“That was detective Madsen,” said Sam. “Remember our friend Len?”

“Ahh, weird as hell, soulless, took the rap for all the murders? That Len?”

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed in a softer voice, “he’s dead.”

That was unexpected. The brothers hit the road and headed down to the station. The killing, they were told, didn’t appear to be motivated by revenge. It had been too clean and professional. As they moved through the area, the scent of sulfur clung to the air. It was no mystery who the assassin had been.

“So Len was killed by a demon,” said Sam contemplatively as the detective stepped away for a moment.

“Yeah, but why would a demon want to kill a guy with no soul… that’s like a Cracker Jack box with no prize,” Dean wondered.

They spent the afternoon at the police station. A young girl had been brought in for murder and as Dean and Sam investigated, they found her to be a victim of Amara. A short while later, with a better idea of what was going on, Dean and Sam had laid a trap. They settled into a back corner of an empty cell near hers and waited. Crowley had a demon following Amara, killing the soulless victims she left in her wake, to keep from drawing the attention of hunters like Sam and Dean. This demon had no idea what he was walking into.

He brazenly pushed into the cell, monologuing about having to clean up the “boss’ daughter’s mess.” This wasn’t difficult to translate. Clearly, Crowley was playing house. Amara was the little dolly that he was playing daddy to.

“Nothing personal,” rasped the demon as its eyes slipped to black and its mouth peeled back in a sneer. It moved in boldly for the kill. As the demon raised his blade and moved on the young girl, she stepped back from him and he found himself pinned. Neatly confined in the devil's trap that Sam and Dean had chalked on the ceiling of her cell. Knowing he’d been bested – and likely by the Winchesters – he closed his eyes and his shoulders sagged in defeat. At this point, he had no chance of survival and he knew it. The only question mark was how long he’d suffer before they snuffed him out. Dean was well known in the bowels of hell. He wasn’t afraid to get a little blood on his clothes. And when he wanted information – a devil's trap wasn’t where you wanted him to find you.

The interrogation of the demon wasn’t Dean’s usual work. But without the mark on him, he was too soft. He knew this sulfurous, rotting maggot was a demon from hell. But to look at it here, on this plane, hiding in the body of teenage boy, the line was blurry. It was hard to keep himself in the mindset of a man who wants to cut.

Once Dean was certain there was no more information to get from the demon, he and Sam agreed to go ahead and kill it. There was no saving the poor bastard. He’d been shot. Even if they exorcised the demon riding in his skin – the young man wouldn’t have survived.

Dean felt a tingle. A little surge of excitement. He couldn’t hold back the smile that slid onto his face. He turned toward the demon and buried his knife to the hilt. It felt indescribably good to feel the energy crackle under his hand and watch the light slide out of its eyes. The Mark of Cain may be gone, but Dean has been squashing cockroaches like this for far too long not to enjoy it a little.

 

They didn’t get much for rest that night. They had a body to dispose of and research to do. When Dean staggered back to the motel in the early morning sunshine, Sam was still awake and sitting at the little table hunched over his laptop.

“Where’d ya stash the body?” Sam asked him.

“School playground,” he deadpanned.

Sam smirked and moved across the room to show Dean what he’d spent most of the night working on. Dean listened as Sam explained that the demon had been cleaning up Amara’s messes for a while and had left a lot of clues for them. After looking over the information, they found they had their first real lead… several possible locations for Amara. Dean felt his insides react to the thought of her. He tried to refocus his attention on the problem at hand instead of on _her_ ; making a show of looking at the map and not letting Sam see his face.

“What I don’t understand,” Sam said thoughtfully, “is why would Crowley keep Amara on Earth? Wouldn’t it be smarter to keep her in hell?”

“Yeah,” conceded Dean, “but then he’d have to spend more time there. And he hates that place.”

Sam was giving him that look again. He hated that look. “Oh yeah, right,” drolled Sam, pushing Dean’s buttons, “I keep forgetting about your and Crowley’s summer of love.”

Dean took a single moment to contemplate how nasty it felt to be reminded of his time by Crowley’s side, the distasteful things he’d done, and how much he’d enjoyed it.

Rather than succumb to anger or self-loathing (which were both such excellent choices) Dean opted for the preservation of his sanity and ignored Sam’s little jab. He refocused on the map.

“What’s this POI?” Dean asked.

“Point of interest,” replied Sam.

Dean could not contain the eye roll. “I know what a...” he stopped talking and gritted his teeth. “What is it?” pushed Dean.

Sam seemed to catch on to Dean’s frustration and made a beeline for the computer. “Let’s find out.”

Dean nodded and tried to calm himself.

“Needham Asylum,” said Sam, “decommissioned in ’63. Sound like Crowley’s kind of place to you?”

Sam smirked. Dean nodded. They began preparing to move out. Weapons were cleaned, ammunition loaded and still… Sam was pushing his luck. He made no effort to hide his doubts about Dean’s ability to kill Amara when the time came. The lack of faith was heartbreaking. Unfortunately, Sam was right to question him. Dean had no idea if he even had the will to do it, let alone the strength. She was power. She may be fresh to this Earth and thus childlike in her lack of knowledge and ability. But she was power. Raw power. Dean was just a man.

He found himself wishing for Cas. The strength of his presence at Dean’s side would be a comfort now, and Dean was craving it. He closed his eyes as he put the box of bullets in his duffel. The image of a mighty warrior – weak with desire flashed behind his eyelids. Its seduction was powerful. Yes, this attraction was getting out of control. He was already relying on the angel more than he should. What was to become of him if he kept letting himself think of Cas as more?

Sam’s voice jerked him from his thoughts, and he tried to focus on the here and now. “Are you sure we’re ready for this, Dean? We don’t know anything about her. We don’t know how to kill her or even if she _can_ be killed!”

“I know,” he conceded. “But she’s too big a threat to wait. I say we go in there and we hit her with everything we’ve got.” Dean silently hoped that it would be enough. But already, he knew that it likely wouldn’t be.

Both exhausted, they decided to pull the curtains over the daylight and grab some sleep. It would be a long time before the sun went down anyway. Once it did, they’d go investigate the asylum.

Dean carried the whiskey bottle and cheap plastic cups to the little table that sat between the beds. He kicked off his boots and settled in, pouring for both himself and Sam. Then, to the warm caress of alcohol and the drone of daytime TV, the men fell into an easy rest.

Dean heard the soft hum of insects, opened his eyes and looked around in the low light. It was definitely daytime, but under the canopy of tree branches above, only minimal light was filtering through. It was misty here and the air was heavy, still. Wide green leaves of squat tropical plants tangled around his feet as he stepped deeper into the environment. There was life everywhere. All the plants were varieties of healthy green – lush and damp and growing in close proximity to one another. Their vines and chutes tangled and made walking difficult.

The sounds of bird calls echoed above in a loud chorus, and near his feet Dean heard and felt the scuttling of small animals. The sunlight that reached him here was tinted a yellow-green and the humidity that was visible as a light mist in the air was clinging to everything. Every leaf and vine that rubbed his shoulder as he passed it was damp. The air he breathed was damp. It smelled of dank earth and moss, and as he moved the scent of some nearby flower would tease for a moment and then be gone.

Dean looked down at his feet as he waded through this jungle without the assistance of a path. His boots cracked sticks and flattened leaves as he went. Ahead, his eyes started to see the light grow brighter. He moved towards that brightness, instinctively knowing that it was his destination.

As he closed the distance he became aware of the sweat that rolled down his back one drop at a time, the weight of his clothes as they too became damp from his environment, and his growing thirst. He rubbed the moisture from his face with a corner of his shirt and continued on – raising his forearm to protect his face from the low hanging leaves and vines that crossed in front of him.

As he neared his destination he began to hear the sound of rushing water, and he could see that there was a clearing ahead. At last, he stepped out from between two gnarled tree trunks and looked down a gentle incline of leafy ground cover, dotted with a few trees and interlaced with rocks both large and small. At the bottom of the slope was a cascade of inviting water. It was either a large creek or a small river. As the clear water cascaded over rocks, it churned white. It couldn’t be more than a few feet deep and it had no defined shore, simply ambling along among the rocks at the bottom of this ravine. Dean looked to the left and right and saw the same thing both ways… a ravine cutting through jungle with no sign of civilization.

Feeling the urge to keep moving, Dean chose to move downhill and began picking his way over rocks and bushes and ferns. As he traveled he breathed in the thick air and smiled. This place was so exotic and beautiful compared to the back roads of the Midwest. Oregon had been pretty and green, but even that area didn't compare to the splendor found here. Dean caught himself smiling as he went on and soon found his path widening.

The vista before him was incredible. The creek he’d been following was tumbling over a small rise and into a large lagoon. The water in its basin varied in shades of green and blue. As Dean stepped out onto a huge boulder, he could see several other small waterfalls also emptying into this lagoon, and the jungle pressing in around it.

Palm fronds and ferns bent out over the water and their tips brushed its surface creating small ripples as the water swirled in beneath them. At Dean’s feet, an inch or so of clear water rushed past his boots and over the edge of the boulder – falling a half dozen feet to the pool below. Why he was still wearing three shirts was lost on him. So he began to tug them off, one layer at a time.

Under the late afternoon sun, Dean settled in. He kicked off his boots and tossed his shirts, jeans and belt onto a nearby rock. Naked but for his boxers, he sat down on the large stone and let his feet dangle over the lagoon. The small amount of water rushing past him kept his thighs cool and from the knees down, his legs were immersed in the small waterfall he was sitting over.

His eyes wandered over the scenery, and his ears were lulled into contentment by the layered birdsong that surrounded him. The flap of a nearby wing pulled his mind from its foggy contentedness. Dean was no longer alone. He’d know that sound anywhere. He was smiling in anticipation before he even turned his head.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas. You found my perch.”

“Yes Dean. Where are your clothes?”

It was only then that Dean remembered he was almost naked. He met Cas’ eyes and tipped his head, gesturing to the rock behind him. “Got comfortable,” he supplied as his explanation.

“I see that.”

“You should, too,” said Dean without thinking, his mind sluggish and too relaxed, “get comfortable.” All he could think of was how out-of-place the angel looked - fully suited up and wearing his usual trench coat. Here. In the middle of paradise. He didn’t mean to try and entice him out of his clothes. Or maybe he did.

Since their kiss in the snow, Dean had thought of it a million times. And with no reality intruding to dissuade him, he couldn’t help but entertain ideas of what might happen here – on this rock under a warm sun.

Dean had glimpsed bits and pieces of Cas over the years: bare chest when a bloody sigil was being carved into it, a stomach impaled by an angel blade… little hints of exposed skin. But that was different.

Here there was no danger. There were no prying eyes. It was just the two of them, alone. Dean’s mouth was practically watering as he watched Cas nod and begin to disrobe. The angel tossed his coat alongside Dean’s clothes and followed it with his suit jacket. Dean had to look away when Cas undid the tie. He swallowed hard and forced his eyes to the churning water below – giving Cas time to unbutton and unzip every chance that Dean would ever think of him the same.

When Cas settled beside him, Dean didn’t look up. His eyes stayed locked on his feet where they hung over the edge. Soon, there was another set of feet hanging there too.

“This is nice, Dean. I like this very much.”

“Me too, Cas. I’ve seen way too much ugly. It’s nice to see something like this for a while.” Under the steady spill of cool water, their ankles bump together.

“I agree, Dean. I wish you could see more of the beauty in the world.” He sighs. “I’ve been watching this planet for a very long time. I’ve soared over your mountains and felt the ice crystals of your highest clouds. I’ve trailed my wings through pounding surf and deep caves. I’ve seen every sunset from every horizon you can possibly imagine.”

It was quiet for a moment as Dean contemplated Castiel. He thinks about how old the creature really is. And he is a creature. Dean is very aware. Cas is not human. Dean can’t even look on his true form… that’s how different they are.

Dean’s mind fumbles with the idea – trying to conjure some semblance of a vision of what Cas really looks like. He’s at a loss. It’s just too big. But despite the chasm that separates them; the vast unknowable differences in their species – there’s something there. It’s undeniable.

Dean may not know what Cas looks like. But in those eyes he can see him just the same. His earthly body, and the underneath. The spirit, the consciousness, the lifeform. He knows this being. He knows how it feels to fear it, to need it, to be deprived of it and crave its company.

“Of all that I’ve seen in all my days on this planet,” says Cas, “do you know what is the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen?”

Dean finally looks over at Cas. The man’s eyes are deep blue like the sea and a little stormy. Something is building there. “What?”

“You, Dean. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

Dean can’t hold back and his lips crash against the angel, body turning on the rock and angling to get closer. Dean’s arm slides in around Cas’ bare waist like it was meant to go there and for the second time, Cas’ arm slides around Dean’s neck. They mold together like clay pressed tight in the hands of a child. Forming together, bleeding into one another. No boundaries now, none.

When they pull apart to breathe, Dean can’t catch his breath; it’s ragged and unchecked and he can’t find the will to be ashamed. As he blinks his eyes open and finds himself tangled in Cas, he’s happy. For one brief moment, he’s happy. The feeling, having been absent for most of his life, is easily identified now. Dean wants to grab it, hold it, keep it.

His skin is hot everywhere it touches the angel, and Dean is overwhelmed by the need to be closer, to connect. He slides his hand down and drags it over Cas’ thigh. The manly shape of it, the hair, it feels different from the women he’s used to caressing. Cas isn’t soft. Not in this form or any other. He’s strong and powerful and fierce. And he thinks Dean, in all his failings and weaknesses, is the most beautiful thing he’s seen.

This truth, more than any other, is what settles into Dean's heart and brings a smile to his lips that he’s sure Cas can feel as their mouths come together again. Lost in the kissing, Dean continues to run his hands over Cas’ skin, just feeling him and soaking up how it feels to have Cas’ hands wander over him too.

They explore each other as they kiss and when they break apart again, Dean drops mouth to Cas’ shoulder. He can’t resist. His lips and tongue move over soft skin as he tastes his angels neck before reuniting their lips once more – hungry and urgent.

“Dean.”

No. Not yet.

“Dean.”

Just a little longer, please!

“Dean!” hollers Sam.

It’s over. The spell is broken. The loss of it crashes over Dean like a bucket of ice-cold water.

“It’s dark, Dean. You said to wake you when it was dark.”

Dean blinks up at Sam from his hotel bed. With every fiber of his being he wants to be back in the dream with Cas.

“You might wanna take care of that before we head out,” chuckles Sam as he turns away from Dean’s bed and begins packing up his things.

Dean looks down and sees an obscene tenting of his blankets. It’s all that’s left of his time with Cas. He staggers to the bathroom and cranks up the shower. He takes care of his problem with a quick and rough shower jerk. He doesn’t think of Cas. It would sully the memory of what he’d just experienced.

As he dries off and dresses, Dean focuses on getting his head back where it needs to be. On the hunt. This is no routine haunting or vamp kill. He’s going to try and take down Amara. Dean pulls himself together as he ties his boots. Sam is goading him about waking with a “stiffie” as they settle into the Impala and head out. And who can blame him, really. Besides, their camaraderie helps Dean slide back into his role, remember who he is and what he needs to do.

Under the cover of night, they stalk up to the abandoned building on quiet feet. It’s a mammoth structure with a deep, two-story front porch. The overgrown trees encroach on its massive columns and wide staircase. Behind the cement facade, the rest of the building is a red brick exterior. The entire structure is heavy with mold and mildew, the engraved name barely distinguishable from under the ruin of weather and time. There isn’t much of a breeze to cover the sound of their footfalls as they walk through the broken gate. It squeaks a little, but there’s no one to hear them.

Strange. There’s no guards outside. The warding sigils confirm that there is something supernatural taking residence here. And the pathetic excuse for a lock on the front door shows that whatever is squatting here… doesn’t fear humans. At all.

Dean boldly goes to work on the lock while Sam earnestly begs him to exercise more caution.

“Security out here may be lax, but we don’t know how many demons are inside, Dean.”

Dean gives a nod, doing his best to keep up the male vibrato. “Let’s find out,” he says in his best impression of a Dirty Harry voice.

The lock surrenders with a soft click under Dean’s expert hands. The brothers enter together with weapons drawn and find themselves staring down a long corridor.

As they venture down it, they stop, hoping to quietly cook up another trap.

Dean searched his phone and came up with a voicemail from his time with Crowley. He nudged Sam quietly and gestured to his display screen, wishing they didn’t have to be so quiet. It would feel so good to rub Sam’s face in it… the fact that the “summer of love” with Crowley (as Sam had called it earlier) was now yielding them something they could use as they infiltrated the lair of the king of hell.

Sam settled into an alcove and let Dean continue down the long hall without him. He waited quietly until he heard Dean play the message. Crowley’s voice suddenly echoed down the stone hallway, pulling the attention of a nearby demon patrol. As the rotting hell-citizen stalked by Sam in a perfectly respectable meat-suit, his attention was on Dean at the end of the hall. It gave Sam the edge he needed. He lunged from his hiding place with the full element of surprise on his side. Dean watched as his brother chose not to kill it, but to bind it in demon cuffs instead.

Voices began to echo down the hall, and Dean's head snapped towards the noise. Their presence here was no longer a secret. Sam heard it too and looked up from cuffing the agent of hell. 

“Ya know what? You go. Take her out,” Sam said in a hushed voice as he picked the dungeon keys off the cuffed man and passed them to Dean, “I’ve got them.”

Dean didn’t argue. He took the keys and made off, leaving Sam to face off with the remaining guards. He didn’t pause. He didn’t need to search. He immediately knew which direction would take him to her. He could feel her. Her teasing promises floated across his soul like soft ribbons. Logically he knew that she was evil incarnate. His brain accepted this reality. But his consciousness felt a softness, a sensuality, a calling. A desire.

Dean moved quickly through the corridors and soon found himself poised at her door. The keys were in one hand and his demon blade in the other. He took a deep breath, summoning all his courage and pushed through the doors.

His eyes landed on her form and he knew her instantly, despite having never seen her looking the way she looked now. She was built more like a woman than a girl now. If he’d been 17 she would have been the stuff of fantasies. Wavy dark hair, smooth milky white skin. Blue eyes.

As he drank in her new appearance, it was the eyes that held him. They were bright and clear and magnetic. Much like the older, stronger and wiser eyes that haunted him often now. He felt a chill spread up his spine as her presence acknowledged him and spoke.

“I knew you’d find me,” she said confidently.

Dean fixated on her as she moved to stand in front of him. He barely noticed the room around them – decked out to look like that of a young girl. He noticed her presence. It filled him with yearning, and he had to work to hold his body back. He shook off the urge to walk to her and pulled his chin up – forcing himself to find his strength and courage. And to hold the knife steady.

“I’m sorry, Amara.”

“For what?” she asked with sugar-coated innocence.

“For what I have to do,” he answered her. It was difficult to admit it, but he felt bad for her. He cared for her, as much now as when he’d held her in his arms as a swaddled infant. He didn’t want to end her.

Consciously he knew he had to do it… knew she wasn’t what she appeared to be. Her physical body, her bond to him and even the pleasant feelings he felt radiating from her were an illusion. But it was a good one. He wanted nothing more than to embrace her, pity her, love her.

Dean began to wonder. Even if she just stood here and let me do it, could I?

Just then, Crowley burst through the door. Before Dean could even fully turn to face the king of hell – the door was flung shut and his body was tossed like a rag doll. He felt himself crash into a full length mirror and heard the tinkling sound as the shards rained down on the cement floor.

“My girl’s grown up,” said Crowley in a snide attitude. “Should’ve known it wouldn’t be long before the boys came sniffing around.”

Dean stood from the pile of debris and made a leap for Crowley as he neared. One swipe of a finger found Dean hurling through the air again. The knife came loose from his hand and clattered to the floor. His back slammed into a cement column, and he felt the jarring impact of it radiate up his spine.

Some small and feeble part of him was actually embarrassed at having Amara see him tossed around like he was nothing. He wanted her to know his strength. He wanted her to want him. It was sick, but it was true. His eyes centered on Crowley as he slithered in like a snake in a $5000 suit, to stand in front of Dean and appraise him.

Dean wanted to punch that condescending look off his bearded face. But he couldn’t. He was just a man. For the second time today he realized it too. He was just a man. Immediately on the heels of that thought was another, regarding Cas. _I’m too small for him_.

His heart wrenched as he admitted it to himself; even if Cas wanted him, it wasn’t enough. Dean could never be enough. Cas was born of heaven. And, sadly, he would return there someday as he always had. He would leave Dean here on Earth because that’s where Dean belonged. Because Dean is just a man.

His weakness stunned him, but his bravado never failed him. “What do you want with her, Crowley?” he demanded in his tough-as-nails voice, “What? You think you can use her? Control her?” Dean watched Crowley’s face as he goaded him, wondering how much the man-king-demon would take.

Dean had always treated Crowley like a toddler treats his parents. He pushed. And pushed. He put his toe over the line again and again, daring anyone to punish him.

Now he regarded Crowley with something akin to pity. Amara would kill him. Slowly. And she would kill Dean too. He knew it with certainty. What was really eating away at him? He still wanted her. Even though he knew she would use him to whatever end she wanted and then waste him to ashes. He still wanted her, ached for her, craved her.

Dean was surprised when Crowley stepped forward and admitted having been unable to kill Dean, having gown soft over the years. This feeling of being ‘frenemies’ with the king of hell had crept up on Dean too, so he understood the sentiment. But when he told Dean he’d accepted that there was something going on between them, Dean was aghast. Did Crowley think, all this time, that they were flirting? That they’d hop in the sack someday?

Just because they’d shared a set of triplets when Dean was a demon didn’t mean that Dean wanted to get naked and roll around with the bearded, snarky wanker. Just as his face began to crinkle in disgust at the thought, Crowley finished by saying, “Bromance.”

Dean was relieved to hear that Crowley had simply meant friendship. Dean wasn’t light in the loafers. Having had a few tingly fantasies starring a member of the heavenly host, didn’t mean that Dean was suddenly craving dick. Especially not sulfurous, rotting demon dick.

When dealing with the supernatural, one always had to remember that the package on the outside was hiding a very different presence on the inside. And inside that snazzy suit and perfect swagger? Crowley was revolting… a demon… the very king of hell.

The same principle applied to Castiel. But with Crowley, the vessel was an improvement over the real thing. It was different with Cas. Under that tax accountant exterior was more. A warrior. Strong. Brave. True. You couldn’t tell by looking at his body. But it was there in the eyes. They held it all. The magnetic pull, the fierce determination, the honor and sacrifice. And if Amara was the darkness, then to Dean, Cas was the light.

These eyes of Crowley's, though as ancient as Castiel's, held none of his friend’s spark or draw. They were dead and vacant eyes; finding pleasure only in depravity and self-love.

“Do you know what?” Crowley asked, flicking Dean's own knife in towards him. “I think I am going to kill you today. I feel… different somehow. Ready.”

Dean’s eyes flicked to Amara. She was what was different. Of that he was sure.

“What can I say,” the king practically purred, “fatherhood changes a man.”

Poor bastard never even saw it coming. Dean watched, still anchored to the pillar by imperceptible bonds as Amara snuck up behind the demon and delivered a swift blow to the head. Crowley tried to put up a fight but it was fruitless. Dean watched Amara close in on the king. She held him fast to the wall with nothing but the tilt of her hand and the power within.

Dean couldn’t tear away his eyes from her as she continued slowly breaking Crowley’s bones. The sickening crunch didn’t faze her. She was enjoying the power. And Dean was caught in a trance, enjoying watching her as she enjoyed her power.

Suddenly, Sam’s voice broke the spell as he called out through the door for his brother. “Dean?” Dean turned towards the doors and watched them bow and flex as the full weight of a large man piled into the doors again and again, calling out for Dean.

He found that Crowley, weakened from Amara’s torture, was no longer binding him to the pillar. He took a step towards the door, towards Sam.

But Amara was fast. She thrust out her other arm and now had both him and Crowley bent to her will – pinned to the wall.

She turned back to Crowley and said, “It’s time. Time for you to move your tired ass back to your throne and lick your wounds. I’ll spare your life on one condition. Safe passage for Dean out of here.”

Dean’s heart raced at the thought of Amara making deals on his behalf. He was thrilled that he still meant anything to her. He watched his former partner in crime and “bromance” deliberate over the offer and then accept as he felt his bones start to snap again.

“Good,” she said with eerie calmness. “Now. Get. Out. Of. My. Room.”

Dean found his legs. Despite his gratitude to Amara for sparing his life and protecting him from Crowley, he bent to retrieve his knife. Under all the warm feelings that she was conjuring for him to feel, he knew what she was. He knew he had to summon the courage to plunge in the blade. Kill her now. Before she grew so strong that it was impossible.

The door that had Sam on the other side was silent now. Dean had no idea what had happened to his brother. But it was clear there was no help coming. He was on his own. He clutched the knife tightly and steeled himself for what he had to do with it. And then he felt her eyes find him.

“You won’t,” she said.

And he believed her.

“You can’t,” she said.

And he knew she was right.

“Tell me,” she said softly, “tell me what’s happening here? Between us? You save me… I save you…”

Dean hadn’t realized how entranced he already was, just from the sound of her voice, when she laid her small hand on his cheek. He welcomed the touch, and was repulsed by it at the same time. She was warm and cold. Soft and hard. Bitter and sweet. She was everything. He could not pull away. As she trailed her fingers down toward his chin she whispered, “Why?”

He had no answer for her. He was puzzled through and through. She was an enigma, and he had no words to describe how she made him feel.

“You were the first thing I saw when I was freed,” she said calmly, “and it had been so long. Maybe that’s it. You’re my first experience of his creation. You can’t help but represent that for me… the sweet triumph and sweeter folly of what he’s wrought. There’s no fighting it,” she said firmly, “I’m fascinated.”

Dean was locked in her eyes again. A snake to the charmer. He loved it. He could stand here and look at her forever.

“It’s been great seeing you again, Dean. But it’s time for me to go,” she said reluctantly. “There’s a whole world out there for me to explore, and I can practically taste it.”

Dean didn’t miss the double meaning behind her words. She would devour the world. He watched her see the understanding on his face, and she had the audacity to nod. To acknowledge. To fear him so little that she didn’t even bother to hide her evil from him.

“Soon, I’ll be strong enough to do what I came here to do.”

Dean swallowed hard and finally found his voice, “What’s that?”

“Settle an old score. The oldest score.”

Dean watched her eyes, still heavy with the weight of them, but managed to find a scrap of his courage as the thought about Cas. How much they’d been through together. How much Cas believed in him. He’d never believe how weak Dean had been here tonight. And Dean owed it to him to be worthy. He summoned everything he had and used it to grip the knife tightly and raise his arm. His action was slow and feeble but the effort of it was like moving a mountain. She watched the movement. Watched him. Looking down her nose at him. Detesting him, every bit as much as he detested her. But wanting him. As he wanted her. It was infuriating. Like trying to push two magnets together.

“See?” she said, mocking him for the limp effort. “Told ya.”

Dean had to admit it. She was right. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t end her. Couldn’t even raise a blade against her. Just as that reality came crashing down on him, Sam came crashing through the door. Her attention was diverted for a moment while she flung his brother back from whence he’d come.

It was a distraction, and Dean used it. Every reflex in him that still answered to the name “hunter” leapt towards her like a puma. He had the knife retracted and ready to plunge. But still. He was just a man. She felt him coming and easily flung him off, sending him careening to the wall. As he laid in the rubble, he watched her. Watched her walk calmly away from him. He was sad to see her go.

 

Days later, back in the bunker, Dean was glad to find out that Cas had gotten up and around, even gone out and tracked down Metatron. But he couldn’t believe the news he was absorbing. Amara. Was God’s sister. That was a lot to swallow. She was equal in power to God. And Dean had stood before her with a run-of-the-mill demon knife. As if that would have killed her.

He felt a bit better about not being able to strike now. It likely would’ve served no purpose but to provoke her. And then she’d likely stop playing nice with him.

Cas’ news that he’d found Metatron and retrieved the demon tablet had made his chest swell with pride. But on the heels of that he had to hear that Cas had let the man walk. Just let him go on living his shitty little life. Metatron had too much to pay for. Letting him go was unacceptable, and Dean had trouble controlling his tone as he berated Cas for his choice. Sam had to step up and quiet them, reminding them that were bigger fish to fry.

“Amara is in the wind,” he said heavily as he looked back and forth between Dean and Cas.

“Yeah,” huffed Dean, “God’s frickin sister.”

“You said you were close. Dean, how’d she get away?” Cas asked pointedly.

Dean could see antagonism in the angel's face. He was bitter at Dean for yelling at him about Metatron and was going to make sure Dean knew that he’d come up short too. Defensive now, he barked out, “What part of God’s frickin sister did you not understand?”

All the time he’d spent pining for Cas, literally dreaming about him. And now, back in the room together for less than an hour, they were already fighting. Dean wanted to scream.

The two looked at each other long and hard. Both men knew that Dean had no room to point a finger at Cas. As they squared off, though, Dean couldn’t help the anger or the indignant posture as he felt Cas appraise him and find him lacking. It’s tough to be scrutinized by someone whose opinion means so much. Even harder when you’re ashamed of yourself.

Dean couldn’t take it. He stepped back from Cas’ heavy stare and looked over at Sam. The look on Sam’s face spoke volumes. He hadn’t missed a thing. He knew just from watching the exchange between him and Cas that Dean had been given a shot at Amara and didn’t take it. He could see it all over his brother’s face.

In a reflex almost as old as he is, Dean turns to anger. He yells at them both and demands to know what they’re going to do to stop Amara. No one has an answer. No one appreciates Dean’s attitude. Least of all, Dean. But just to be sure that everyone in the room is equally as angry and uncomfortable as he is… he throws Cas a look that he knows will hurt.

Then he turns to Sam and insults him. He takes a cheap shot at Sam’s visions and the message that Sam had thought was behind them by saying, in a sarcastic voice, “I don’t suppose God’s decided to share any wisdom on the matter?”

The look on Sam’s face tells Dean that the arrow has hit its mark. He’s instantly sorry, but makes no apologies. Not to either man.

Deeply wounded by Dean’s condescending remark, Sam shuffles off to the library under the pretense of looking into lore books.

Cas continues to stand there – watching Dean. Dean looks anywhere but at Cas. He longs for things to be different. But how can they be? How can they possibly go from what they are now – to what he’s begun hoping for them to be? The truth is, they can’t.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics for Face of a Faith (by Nellie McKay) quoted at the beginning are well suited to the mood of the story, I think. Here is a link to hear the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1acIXLjnECI


	3. Loved Like That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for editing MoniJune!

With a few good nights’ sleep and decent meals, life began to feel normal again. As normal as it ever was for a Winchester. Dean hadn’t had any new dreams of Cas, but he was still thinking of him often. He and Sam had buried themselves in the pre-biblical lore that Cas had dug up, but even Sam couldn’t read most of it. It was written in Aramaic. The base language had been broken down and assimilated into many other languages and dialects over the course of history. So, from one scroll to the next… the language wasn’t the same. It was an uphill battle.

Dean had also walked by Sam’s room and seen him praying. That, strictly speaking, wasn’t normal. Perhaps it just seemed peculiar because his brother had been kneeling bedside to pray… the way a small child would do it.

Dean had tried to empower Sam, steering him away from prayers and towards putting faith in their own efforts. It didn’t seem to work. Sam seemed certain that the visions he was having were divine in origin and as time went by he became increasingly perplexed that he couldn’t understand their meaning.

When a call came in from Sheriff Donna, Dean greeted her warmly.

“Fat sucker Donna?” Sam had asked.

Dean gave a stiff nod and tried to focus on what Donna was telling him, “What do you mean killer bunny?”

Sheriff Donna, it turns out, was working some hours in another county – helping out where they were short on manpower. That’s the only reason she’d even known about the case. But as she told Sam and Dean the details of the murder, she explained that she’d been quick to call them about this case because it had a weird feeling to it.  And having seen a glimpse of the supernatural world – she wasn’t going to take any chances.

Dean liked Donna. She was a warm person and she had a good sense of humor. He liked joking around with her and got a kick out of how seriously she took her job.

When they followed Donna and her temporary partner to the holding cells, Dean had to admit it. The whole thing was fuckin creepy. The bunny head was huge and cartoonish. But it was filthy and covered in blood. And the wearer sat still as a stone while they looked him over. It was strange to imagine officers trying to remove that bunny head by force and being unable to. But according to Donna, that’s exactly what had gone down.

She left them with the costumed killer to take care of something. Dean attempted a dialog but got no response. Not to his serious questions or his even his condescending ones. But when Sam mocked him, Dean found himself surprised by the killer rabbit’s response. Before he knew it, his head was being pulled to the bars and he was in a choke hold. He fought it but was at a disadvantage not being able to strike his killer, who was protected inside the giant bunny head.

Sam tried holy water, but it had no effect. This wasn’t a demon. It took both brothers to pry Dean free. They didn’t leave without clues though. The suspect was wearing a university label t-shirt and had a tattoo with a name on it.

They hit the streets to start investigating the few clues they had. Just when they got a positive identification on the killer bunny, they got another call from Donna. The bunny had attacked her in the parking lot during a transport and her temporary partner, Doug, had shot it.

When they arrived on scene, they found her riddled with guilt that a teenage boy had been shot on her behalf. At this point it was clear that the boy had been under control of the bunny head somehow. So, they took it to the woods and burned it that night. By the time they’d finished, it was late.

Dean consoled her that there was nothing she could’ve done and then he and Sam had headed back to the hotel room. Dean peeled out of his suit and tie, settling into bed in his boxer briefs. He curled up with a stiff drink and watched TV while Sam drifted to sleep in the bed next to him.

The blue light from the television began to fade in and out as Dean's eyes grew heavier. He sat up to finish his drink and set the cup aside before surrendering to sleep. And then, he was driving. It was dark and the road was lit up in headlights. He looked forward and watched Baby’s shiny black hood eat up the yellow dashes as he rolled along the highway.

The Allman Brothers were playing in the background and he was relaxed, content to drive and feel the purr of the engine under him. His window was down, elbow resting there, and a warm breeze blowing in on him. He hadn’t seen another car in miles.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean didn’t startle. It was as if he’d known Cas was coming, as if he’d been waiting for him. “Hey Cas, nice you could drop in.”

Cas nodded and faced forward. They rode in amiable silence for a while and then Cas asked about the music. Dean told him this was one of his favorite albums and Cas nodded that he liked it too. They listened together for a while, Dean's fingers tapping out a beat on the steering wheel. Cas asked him what it was about this kind of music that he liked so much.

Dean shrugged, and looked over at his friend. “I don’t know man, I just feel it, I guess.”

“It’s strange,” concurred Cas, “how we can like something but not know why.”

Dean nodded along, still enjoying the easy feeling in the car. He looked to Cas and couldn’t help but smile as he saw Cas’ fingers tapping along on the door handle. Their eyes met and Dean felt it. That spark of something passing between them.

He refocused on the road and in the silence at the end of the tape, he looked again.

“Sam’s having visions still. He thinks they’re coming from God. I don’t think so.”

Cas was thoughtful. “What do you think, Dean?”

“I think he’s being played. I just don’t know by who. Or for what reason.”

“You’re worried.”

“Of course I’m worried. It’s Sam. He’s an easy play. Anyone, even a demon, can get Sam to do what they want if they tell him the right things. I need to protect him, but I don’t know who I need to be protecting him from.”

Cas was quiet and facing out the window. Dean glanced at him. He looked different with his hair blowing in the warm breeze and his elbow thrown up casually. In all likelihood he’d simply copied Dean’s position, but it looked right. Dean liked having Cas with him in the car. Liked it a lot. But there was something troubling about the set of Cas’ jaw.

“Hey buddy, what is it?”

Cas just shook his head, still looking out into the night.

“Cas, man, talk to me.”

“You love your brother.”

“Of course.”

“I have many brothers. But I have never known love like yours and Sam’s,” Cas said softly. “I wish I knew what it was like… I wish I was loved like that.”

Dean glanced at the road for a beat and then looked back to his friend and said, “Cas, you are.”

His blaring ringtone jolted him back to reality. Sam was fumbling in the bed next to him and Dean flopped over to grab the phone from the small table between the beds. He silenced it quickly and then answered. It was Donna. There had been another attack. The wrestling coach at the high school had been bludgeoned by the mascot.

The brothers were both cranky as they put their suits back on and headed out.

They learned a lot at the scene. First, the coach wasn’t dead. He was in a coma and might pull through. Second, after questioning the waif of a girl who had donned a joker's costume and bashed the coach’s head in, they finally had the origin of the costumes.

They followed the trail to Rita Johnson. While they questioned her, Donna kept Ms. Johnson's son occupied by showing him her police cruiser. The costumes, it turned out had belonged to her brother Chester who had been a party entertainer for kids. After his death, she’d donated his costumes. Her son Max had begged her not to, having been close to his uncle who had lived with them. But she said seeing them had made her sad so she’d divided them between the local high-school and theater company with a few going to the thrift store as well.

Chester had been cremated so that meant that they’d actually have to track down all of his personal items, including his costumes, so they could burn whatever objects his spirit had attached itself to. Ms. Johnson had claimed Chester hadn’t known either victim, so that left Dean and Sam still in the dark as to why those men had been targeted for death.

The three split up from there, and Dean headed over to speak with one of the widows. That’s when things started to come together. He found out that Chester had been accused of molestation by the victims. They’d confronted him quietly, wanting to keep things quiet for the sake of their kids. But shortly after they accused him, he’d jumped off a bridge.

Dean had a feeling that it wasn’t a suicide. His gut told him different. His gut pointed to Chester having been murdered by his accusers. That would go a long way towards explaining why he was reaching from beyond the grave to kill them now.

Dean and Sam headed back over to Ms. Johnson's house. Dean now knew that he’d been lied to by her. He wanted to apply some pressure and see what else he could find out. She was hesitant to admit that there was more to the story, but she ended up coming clean. She explained that when her brother had been accused, she’d doubted his innocence and turned a blind eye to his attack. He’d been killed by accident, or so she was told, but it didn’t matter. He was dead, and she’d let it happen.

Turning around and seeing her son, Max, walk towards them wearing the last costume head had paralyzed Dean with fear. This boy was possessed by his uncle and would now be trying to kill his own mother. Sam and Dean both took a beating as they tried to intercede, but in the end, the vengeful spirit of Chester was dispatched. Ms. Johnson and her boy were safe. Donna would “fix” the paperwork.

It was raining lightly as they headed out of town. The last of the daylight was waning as they rumbled down the highway. It was quiet for a while, both brothers low on sleep.

But Sam eventually broke the silence. He talked again of his visions, telling Dean that was unsure what the visions were supposed to mean… but that he was seeing the cage. He said he was going to continue praying to God for guidance.

Dean was chilled to the bone as he heard his brother say that he thought maybe God was trying to tell him that the answer to Amara’s defeat was for Sam to find in the cage.  Dean put his foot down and told Sam that anything to do with Lucifer’s cage was a firm no. As in… not gonna happen.

Sam eventually said okay and both men nodded agreement. But as Sam descended back into silence, Dean could tell by the set of his brother’s jaw that his lecture had done no good. Sam had always been one to do what he thought was right. Once he made up his mind no one could dissuade him.

Dean was frustrated by the situation but could think of nothing to say to Sam that he hadn’t already said. Rain cut through their headlights and spattered the windshield. The wipers beat back and forth like a metronome.

Dean drove in silence for hours, long after Sam had fallen asleep. He thought about Sam and the cage. Thought about what Bobby would say if he were here. Thought about all the ways that they could be deceived and all the ways that the darkness could drive a wedge between him and Sam. All the ways that something could go wrong. How much they were lacking.  His mind wandered to Cas, too.

Initially, he was thinking about just talking to Cas about Sam’s visions. But it didn’t take long for his mind to wander. He thought back to the dream he’d had the night before last. It was so vivid. Perhaps it had felt more real because the dream had taken place in the Impala.

The dream of kissing in the snow and on the waterfall had taken place in unfamiliar locations. That had made them seem more dream-like. But Cas had sat in the Impala with Dean in real life. Often. Because of that, he couldn’t help feeling that the dream had been significant somehow.

He tried to think back to what they’d talked about in the dream… searching for anything significant that might provide insight. But in the dark corner of his mind, there was a crouching presence. A thought taking hold, growing bigger even as he tried to will it away. It skulked about in the periphery – teasing him into considering it.

The deliciousness of the idea brought a smirk to his face before he could help it and the mental picture of it spread across his mind. He could see it clearly as his mind wandered back into the dream. He was cruising down the highway with Cas and talking quietly while the radio played in the background. He passed a sign for a scenic overlook and slowed, taking the turnoff.

The Impala rolled up to a guard rail. The view of the state park below was probably inspiring. But in the dark, they couldn’t see it. Cas looked at Dean questioningly and then smiled as Dean leaned in, as if to kiss him. But instead of a kiss Dean surprised him by fisting into his trench coat and dragging him playfully into the backseat.

Dean grinned just considering it. He loved getting laid in Baby’s back seat. And the idea of doing things to Cas back there was sending tingles up his spine. He considered how it would feel to push the coat off over Cas’ shoulders and start unbuttoning his shirt. He swallowed hard as his wild imagination conjured up pictures for him of how sweet and innocent Cas’ face would look as Dean began tugging off his belt. Cas would be staring at him as he took his own off too. He wondered idly what it would be like with Cas. Would they be frenzied? Stripping each other quickly with rough hands and eager mouths? Would Cas show Dean demanding eyes and forceful passion?

Or would it be soft and quiet? Dean could see it either way. He could see Cas staring at him softly and contemplatively as Dean revealed himself and put his mouth on Cas’ skin. He could imagine the look on his angel's face as Dean sunk down on him. He could picture the windows fogged over and Baby rocking slowly as they moved, two grown men heavy in the backseat.

EEK

EEK

EEK

Dean hadn’t realized that the rain had stopped. He was pulled from his revelry by the sound of his windshield wipers squeaking across a dry surface.

EEK

EEK

He glanced at Sam as he switched them off, stunned that he noise hadn’t awoken his brother. This whole dreaming of Cas thing was really getting out of control. He wasn’t even just dreaming or daydreaming anymore. He wasn’t just fantasizing. He was _wanting_.

And to his dismay he had to admit that _wanting_ was usually the beginning of the end. When had he ever gotten anything he wanted? Everything he’d ever really wanted for himself was either dead or lost to him. He needed to stop this now.

But even as he told himself that, his mind was on fire with images of taking Cas down in the back seat. Of reclining him against the door and knowing that those soulful eyes would be locked on his as he pushed in deep. He wanted to feel himself caught between the spread of Cas’ legs, touch him in his secret places and feel their bodies respond as they explored all the new ways to touch each other.

He tried in vain to clear his mind as he drove, but it was nearly impossible. Thoughts that he shouldn’t be having plagued him for hours as he drove back to the bunker. Thank fuck he was so tired when they finally got there. He dropped his bag on the floor and peeled out of his clothes as he walked. He crawled into bed, stiff and tired from the drive, and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Dean slept quite a while and when he woke, the bunker was quiet and Sam was nowhere to be found. Dean took his time over coffee and then headed back to his room, thinking a few episodes of Game of Thrones would be a nice way to relax a little.

As he turned the corner near Sam’s room, he slowed and peered into the open door of the room that Cas stayed in when he was here. It was empty now, and Dean had no idea where his feathered friend was. Not normally one to intrude in another man’s space, Dean felt strange stepping in. But for some reason, he wanted to look around.

There wasn’t really anything here that marked this space as belonging to Cas. But Dean settled on the bed for a moment, thinking of Cas sleeping in it. He had to admit, the thought of having his friend join them in the bunker permanently was quite enticing. On the nights when he knew Cas was here… just a few doors down from him… he slept better. It gave him a sense of completion that he wasn’t used to. He’d felt a similar feeling when they’d found the garage in the bunker. Bringing Baby inside and closing the door behind her had made Dean feel like she was home, like they all were. He, his brother and his baby all here – tucked away safe in their fortress. It was a feeling of security like he’d never known before.

And now, this room was for Cas. Having Cas be part of that centered feeling was new to Dean, but it was growing on him. As was the idea of Cas becoming a permanent fixture in his day-to-day life.

Dean had enjoyed the times when Cas had hunted with them too. So to imagine him living here at the bunker and hunting with them gave him a warm feeling in his chest. Dean hadn’t realized he’d even been considering that with any level of hope. But he had been. He could see that now.

He wanted Cas here with them. Not just as a presence that popped in and out as needed, but truly accepting this as his home and not returning to heaven. It was a pipe dream, he knew that. Why would Cas ever choose this underground bunker over his home in heaven? It was ridiculous to imagine.  But it was enticing to him, he couldn’t deny it.

They only had one day of rest before they were buried in fresh weirdness.

It was early when Dean staggered to the kitchen for breakfast. But that was a side effect of being properly rested. Dean only needed four or five hours of sleep most nights. So having slept well after their last hunt, he found himself ready to greet the day before the sun was even up.

As he came into the kitchen, though, he was stunned to see Sam in the throes of a vision. Dean watched Sam, in fighters’ stance, arguing with someone who wasn’t there. Things only got weirder from there.

It wasn’t even noon and already they’d jumped in the car with Sully, Sam’s not-so-imaginary friend from childhood, and driven a few towns over to investigate the killing of Sully’s friend Sparkle. Dean had trouble keeping his laughter checked and his eye rolls limited.

They put on sweaters and posed as counselors to speak with the little girl who’d been friends with Sparkle. Then, they’d asked to see her room. Once the girl’s mother left them alone there, Sully appeared. He showed them what the little girl had been seeing… the reason she wouldn’t return to her room.

Sully hadn’t been exaggerating. There was so much blood. Sparkle appeared to be a man but with the hands of a stuffed animal and an actual unicorn horn on his head. Dean had dubbed Sparkle to be a “manicorn” in jest. But now, looking at him, it was accurate.

The gore was extreme. The horn had been broken off and there were multiple stab wounds. There was blood everywhere. And it sparkled.

“Oh yeah,” said Dean firmly, “that kid is gonna need all the shrinks.”

Sam and Dean asked Sully a few questions about other Zanna (the proper name for imaginary friends), and Dean looked over the crime scene. Sully was adamant that no Zanna would kill another Zanna. They had their work cut out for them with this case.

But the hardest part had been when the mom came back in the room. They all gaped at her as she moved about the room setting toys in order. She was tracking through the blood and spreading it around with her hands. Finally she sat down on the window seat, but then proceeded to touch her hands to her face and streaked glittery manicorn blood all over it. The sight was both funny and sickening to Dean.

Attempts to get the mother to go shower immediately had only been met with questioning eyes. The difficulty of the situation was going to be getting the poor child to stop seeing blood. They suggested letting the girl sleep in their guest room for a while and that, unfortunately, was all they could think to do for the family.

As he waited for sleep to take him that night, Dean thought about Sam. Now that he understood the function of Zanna – which was to help distressed kids – he felt even guiltier about the upbringing Sam had endured. Today Sam had even told Dean that he’d been lonely as a child. This wasn’t something Sam had ever really told him before. He’d known it on some level, but hadn’t realized the full extent of it until today.

Watching how protective Sully was of Sam was also a wake-up call. Dean had always thought of himself as Sam’s protector. But compared to Sully? Dean felt like a prick.

The following day, things got even stranger. They buried a mermaid and emptied the pool she’d been stabbed in. It was full of blood and Sully wouldn’t let them leave it like that, fearing the child would see it.

After that, they rescued another Zanna. He didn’t seem like anything special at first, an overgrown man-child in acid washed denim. But Dean had to acknowledge his “air-guitar” skills. They found him bleeding from his stab wound and Sully bandaged him up. The information they got from him was helpful though. Dean now had something solid to investigate.

Having left Sam with Sully, he found himself alone in the Impala as he followed clues. His mind didn’t seem to want to stay focused on the task at hand either. As he drove he was thinking of the dream that had taken place in the Impala… again… and the fantasies that had plagued him since. He was very aware of the empty seat next to him and hoped ardently that Cas would join him. His ears ached to hear the rustle of wings and see his angel appear in the seat next to him.

Daydreaming about Cas continued as he zeroed in on the VW Bug the killer had been driving. And clearly he was too preoccupied to be at his best, because the killer got the drop on him. As he swooned to the ground, he acknowledged to himself that he should’ve been paying more attention to the hunt and less attention to pondering what it would feel like to be lovers with the angel Castiel.

When he came around, he had no idea how much time had gone by. But it was still dark outside. He was tied to a steel pole in a garage or barn of some sort. His captor was nothing but a young girl. He had waited through the drama as Sam and Sully came to his rescue and dealt with the emotional aftermath of a disturbed young girl who’d lost her twin sister because of Sully and then been left alone to process the grief.

Dean left Sam and Sully alone for a few minutes so they could set things right between them and say their good-byes. Then he said his own good-bye to Sully, thanking him for having taken care of Sam when it was needed.

They headed back to the bunker then, and Sam had that look. Normally, it was a look that Dean detested… the look that said a heart-to-heart was in their immediate future. But this time, he welcomed the opportunity to talk. He had things he wanted to discuss.

He listened first, letting Sam tell him about his visions and then he put his foot down. They’d find another way. Going to the cage was a firm no. There was always another way.

“What then?” Sam had asked him. “If not this, then what?”

Dean had no answer for his brother. To keep from having to talk more about the cage (and his brother’s plan to willingly climb into it) he brought up Cas. In a round-about way.

“Do you remember us talking about the possibility of settling down? You know, like with a hunter or someone who understands the life?”

“Yeah Dean, I remember,” said Sam, catching on to the change of subject.

“I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately,” admitted Dean, “I mean, Sammy, hunters don’t have a long shelf life. I’ve always lived hard and fast and I’ve never minded it. The booze, the women, the excitement of the job… I saw those thing as perks that outweighed the short life I knew I’d live.”

Dean took a deep breath. That was a lot of talking. But he went on, “I know you’ve always wanted a normal life. But I haven’t really needed that. Not like you, Sammy. Even when I thought that’s what I wanted for a while – it wasn’t. My time with Lisa showed me that. I was meant to do what we’re doin’ Sam, and I’m satisfied with it. But,” said Dean looking straight ahead at the highway and not at his brother, “But dyin’ is part of this job. Hunters are never too far from the _big_ salt-and-burn. And I know neither of us wants to be brought back this time. When I die next, I’m stayin’ dead.”

Sam nodded firmly. Dean could see it on Sam’s face… he felt the same.

“So,” said Dean, rubbing the back of his neck, “Ever since you asked if I wanted to settle down with a hunter, I’ve been kinda thinkin bout that… bout tryin to carve out a life within this one. I think that was my problem before. I was always thinking either I had to have this life as I’ve led it - or trade it away and have the quiet life. It never really occurred to me that I might be able to have some of both.”

“So, you think you might be ready to give it a try? Find someone that fits your life and keep them around for more than a night?”

“I don’t know Sammy. I just think that there’s things… people… feelings… that I want to experience differently than I have before… maybe even for the first time.”

“Dean, what exactly are you talking about?” asked Sam directly.

“I’m not sure, Sam. Not really. But I’m starting to see that maybe there’s more to it all than I thought before,” Dean admitted.

“That’s good Dean. I knew someday you’d come around…” a small smiled played at the corner of Sam’s lips, “You maybe can’t have all the things that regular people have. But you can have some of it. We both can. We just have to do a little more work to accommodate it, that’s all.”

Dean nodded and refocused his attention on the road ahead.

“Like you said, Dean, a hunter's life is short. So I say, if there’s something you want then take it. There’s no time for pissin’ around.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit selfish? Like if I know I’m gonna live a hard life and then bite it young… is it really fair to bring someone else into that life?”

“You know what, Dean? The person that you feel differently for… they won’t think of the hunting life as a trade-off. They’ll think of it the way we do. I’m just sayin…”

Dean nodded in understanding. Sam was just telling him that when the right person comes along, they’ll accept his hunting and the sacrifices that go with it.

“Look, Dean. I’m not saying to go out and start poppin’ out babies until you’re raising the Brady Bunch in the bunker. But there’s no reason why both of us should have a double bed with no one else in it.”

“Do we need to get you a dog, Sammy?” joked Dean.

“Just drive, Dean,” Sam chuckled.

Dean crawled into bed that night thinking of Cas. For the first time, as he settled his head on the pillow, he consciously wished for a dream. He wanted to see Cas so bad that he was aching inside.

Last time he’d seen the angel was in a dream, and he’d told Cas that he was loved. He’d meant it, too. It had been very spur-of-the-moment and unplanned and the words had just rolled out of Dean’s mouth. But now he knew for sure that he’d meant them.

Tonight as he faded off to sleep he imagined Cas here… in bed next to him. Dean did dream that night too. He found himself perched in an aluminum folding chair at the end of the dock on his lake. He dreamed of this place often. It was his peace, his sanctuary. Cas had visited him in this dream before. Dean settled in and enjoyed the scenery and the cloudless blue sky as he waited for the rustle of feathers that would signify the arrival of his friend.

As time ticked by, he started looking around, wondering how long this dream could last. He wasn’t peaceful anymore, he was anxious, and that eventually gave way to sadness when Cas didn’t join him. When he woke, the pain didn’t abate. He ached from his core, empty and needing Cas. His heart was hollow and he realized that for the first time he could remember, he was truly lonely.


	4. Meet Me In Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by MoniJune!

Dean. Was. Pacing. He’d sought refuge in his room. Sam was working in the library and every time he went in there… the two of them argued. Sam was becoming more and more certain that he was experiencing visions sent to him by God. _The_ God. The big kahuna. The only problem? Dean didn’t really agree. He had no leg to stand on though. He had nothing to refute the arguments Sam was making.

For instance, visions were coming to him after he’d pray. They were accompanied by an emotional sense of well-being… they left Sam _feeling_ benevolence. And recently, one had even been accompanied by the physical manifestation of a burning bush. Yep. Just like with Moses in the Bible. Sam was growing more certain by the day, certain that he was destined to return to the pit, and somehow use Lucifer to lock away the Darkness.

Dean was angry and frustrated that Sam didn’t share his unease about the visions. He was far less certain than Sam that the visions were coming from God. In fact, Dean was almost certain they were not. But he had no proof. All Dean could do was continually repeat, “No. Because I said so.”

But that wasn’t going hold Sam back for much longer. Dean could feel his brother getting courageous. Pushing harder. Getting more insistent. Things were coming to a head and Dean’s answers, rather than growing more intelligent, were growing more petulant and ridiculous.

He’d been drinking steadily all afternoon, but it hadn’t relaxed him until he’d segregated himself to his quiet room and paced out the remainder of his pent up frustration. Bewildered now, he shot back one last tumbler of whiskey and laid down on his bed, settling in with headphones on his ears.

His weighted eyelids drifted closed easily, and Dean found himself in unfamiliar territory. He was still lying down, but he was settled in a bed of soft green grass. It smelled amazing… like spring. So fresh and natural. It was cool and soft and the blue sky overhead was clear. The warmth of the sun was a kiss to his skin, but there was no glare from it. It was almost too perfect.

A kite loomed into view, bright colors that swooped and dove in the wind with a bright tail trailing behind it. Dean sat up and looked around. There were trees and flowers; it felt like he was in the center of a huge park. His eyes followed the kite string to a man in the distance who was enthralled in watching the kite and paying Dean no attention. He watched the man wander off until Dean couldn’t see him anymore and dropped back to the grass-bed he’d been enjoying. Nearby he could hear the hum of insects in the trees and the call of birds. What a peaceful place.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey Cas,” he said, turning on his side to face the angel. Cas was kneeling beside him and Dean reached out, took his forearm and pulled him down into the lush grass. There was a sense of completeness now, having Cas beside him. He turned towards him and chuckled. It was obvious that Cas was trying to get comfortable. “Let me help,” laughed Dean as he reached over and tugged on the sleeve of the trench coat, pulling it off the shoulder. Cas got the other arm out and it fell to the ground.

“C’mere,” he said, hand on Cas’ hip to turn him on his side. Cas was comical as he deliberated for a moment… clearly wondering where to put his right arm. So Dean showed him by curling up his own left arm and resting his head on it. Cas copied him and now they were both in the fetal position, heads resting comfortably and facing each other. Cas’ eyes were bluer than the sky and twice as wide. Dean could not hold back his smile, and to his utter amazement, Cas returned it. They smiled at each other for a pulse-arresting moment. Normally, this would be the part where Dean would realize he was making heart-eyes and cover for it. Detract. Distract. But not today. Not here.

This time, he reveled in it. This angel was a gift from God. He knew that – had always known it. How had he been so blind for so long? To look at Cas was to look at the sun. He had a strong compulsion to look longer, draw closer. And he could see it on Cas, too. Dean inched forward a bit. Cas did too.

“Where are we?” asked Dean.

“Angels don’t have a heaven, Dean. But if they did – I think this would be mine. In reality, this heaven belongs to that man over there,” Cas said with a nod, indicating the direction that Dean had watched the kite-flyer wander off in. “But I borrow it sometimes.”

Dean nodded. It made perfect sense. This is where Cas came when he needed peace. Dean had his lake. Cas had his park.

“I like meeting like this,” Dean confessed.

“I do too, Dean. It’s a place where we can just be what we are, and the world doesn’t intrude on us.”

“Is that why it’s so different between us here? Because there’s no reality?”

“This is still reality Dean. It’s just not one that we’re sharing with anyone else.”

Dean nodded. It was vague, but it made perfect sense. Dean inched closer. Cas mimicked the movement.

“It’s easy here.” Dean admitted quietly.

“What is?”

“This…” he answered, reaching out and taking Cas’ hand in his own, “…everything.”

Dean didn’t take his eyes from Cas’. He was lost in them. But his heart still skittered a little as he felt Cas’ fingers slot between his own. This was the most connected he’d ever felt to another being. Cas inched closer again. Dean followed.

Their faces were close and Dean was mesmerized. “I’ve been a man, Dean. I understand things now that I didn’t when I first came to you.”

Dean only nodded, waiting to hear what Cas was going to tell him.

“I was the leader of a garrison. It was my task to go unto hell and retrieve you. I was to keep you safe until it was time to hand you over to Michael. You see, Dean, I was charged with you. So when I desired things for you… like safety, fulfillment, salvation, love and joy… I assumed that was motivated by my post. That I was caring for you as part of my orders. But falling to Earth was educational.”

Dean inched closer, pulled in by the magnetism behind Cas’ eyes. They were only an inch or two apart now, “Tell me,” said Dean.

“Well, as a man I learned how to live as a human. The hardest part of that was understanding feelings. It’s one thing to have a scientific knowledge. My stomach is empty and thus sending impulses to my brain that are causing a pain. Instinctively I know that eating will cure the pain. Thus I eat. Pain is relieved.  It’s simple. But what do you do when there’s a pain inside that doesn’t abate? Eating won’t cure it. Drinking won’t cure it. Sleeping, shouting, crying, punching… nothing you do relieves it? Dean… how do you relieve an ache like that?”

Dean can’t speak, there’s something stuck in his throat. He can’t swallow it down, and the pressure of it is forcing a tear out the corner of his eye. “What?” he asks, voice hoarse from the pressure in his throat. “What did you do?”

“It relented when you came into my presence.”

Another tear rolled down from the corner of Dean’s eye and into the thick, cool grass.

“When you came for me, you and Sam, you killed for me and brought me to the bunker. Remember?”

“Yeah.” And he did. He remembered five glorious minutes of camaraderie and laughter before Ezekiel (Gadreel) had convinced Dean to expel Cas from the bunker.

“Parting from you saw its return, and until I was in your presence again it would not abate.”

Dean's heart is breaking for Cas. To hear of the suffering this way is agony. He’s gifted an angel and what did he do with it? He put it out like a stray dog.

“It took a while for me to really understand it. But I know now what that was, Dean.”

Dean nods again. He knows too.

“It was love Dean. All the things I wanted for you as an angel… they stayed with me as a man. I loved you, even then, I just didn’t understand what it was or what it meant.”

Dean’s thinking about telling Cas. Telling him everything. That he feels it too. That his heart breaks a little every time Cas goes back to heaven and leaves him exiled and alone on this wasted planet. Cas, however, is the first to speak again.

“Dean. You need me. That’s what love is. It’s need. When you tell me that you need me – you’re telling me that you love me. I understand that now. I didn’t before.”

Dean smiles through watery eyes. He loves that Cas has done it for him; said the words. He can feel the weight lifted from his shoulders, and it’s so freeing.

Cas knows him, inside and out. Cas understands how hard the words are for Dean to say. And he also understands that just because Dean can’t say them – doesn’t make them any less real.

Dean leans in and closes the last inches between them, sealing their lips together with a sigh and a sense of overwhelming and unshakable closure. This is it for Dean. For life or longer. This is now, and always will be, Dean’s place. With Cas.

Their lips stay pushed together for a long time. Salty tears have run across Dean's face, but it’s not until the tear tracks start to itch that Dean breaks their kiss. Cas’ eyes implore Dean for closeness, contact. Dean wants to give it to him. He brushes the back of his hand across his cheek a few times and exhales deeply, allowing the last of the tension to escape his body. Loose and pliant now, he leans in over Cas and brings their lips together once more, humming into the kiss and gently opening his mouth in supplication.

Cas heeds his silent plea and unseals his lips. Softly, reverently, Dean presses in and begins an exploration of Cas’ mouth. They’ve kissed before, but this is different. He’s pulling in close with Cas and before he’s even had a conscious thought about it, he finds himself swathed in Cas’ arms. He pushes his feet through the thick grass, finding purchase there and leveraging himself up – draping himself on top of Castiel. It’s here that he comes alive.

He can feel his heart beating now through his entire body. The blood rushing in his veins is like lava – scalding and purifying in its heat and he can feel it searing through his veins. Dean’s entire body is literally singing with pleasure as he feels Cas tighten his embrace and pull him even closer.

Dean’s forearms drop into the lush grass on either side of Cas’ face and he opens his eyes. The angel is a sight to behold – ethereal eyes blink as Dean centers himself over soft pink lips, and he dips in, to taste them again. He feels Cas’ heavy arms snare his waist and hold tightly and Dean can actually feel their heartbeats… both of them… with their chests pressed together and hearts beating wildly as they are. This is happening. It’s really happening. And it’s huge.

This is more than just Dean admitting that he longs to be closer to Cas. This is more than just a man trying to come to terms with what he really wants. It’s more than a change from friends to lovers. This is the bonding of a man and an angel. Dean doesn’t even realize he’s crying again until Cas breaks their kiss and unwinds one arm, bringing a finger to his face to wipe the tear.

“It’s going to be okay, Dean. I know you’re scared, but everything will be okay.”

Dean can’t speak yet, he feels like he’ll choke if he does. So he just waits silently for the closed off feeling in his throat to pass. Cas is waiting patiently for Dean so he answers as soon as he feels that he can.

“That’s why you’ve been doing this, right? Making these dreams? Because I’m scared. You knew I’d never be this honest with you awake… that I’d be too scared and I’d cop out… so you’ve been dream stalking me?”

Cas smiled and rolled Dean over so they were back side by side again, “I prefer to think of it as dream courting. It’s nicer that way.” Rather than pulling his arms behind his head for cushion, he rests his head on the ground instead so he can wrap his arms around Cas’ neck. Cas lets himself be pulled down and Dean said, “Well, it worked okay? I’m not scared anymore. I’m ready. I’m ready to be awake with you.”

“That’s good, Dean. I will be glad to have this in the real world too, but I hope we can still dream together as I enjoy it very much.”

“Me too,” said Dean, pulling Cas down for another kiss, but Cas was resisting.

“Dean,” Cas said ardently, “this isn’t the only fear you have. When you wake you will be swallowed by them. Don’t forget me.”

“I won’t,” he said firmly. “How could I? Besides, isn’t love supposed to be stronger than fear? Seems like I read that somewhere… or saw it in a movie?” he was grinning now… giddy.

“It’s not that simple Dean. Fear makes people do things…”

“Cas,” said Dean, suddenly understanding that Cas was trying to tell him something of grave importance, “don’t beat around the bush, man. Tell me what I need to know.”

“You love me,” Cas said firmly, “You love me. Not her. She has no power over you. You are mine. Forever. Do not fear Amara.”

Dean’s pulse was picking up again having just heard her name, and not in the good way. He implored the angel, “Don’t say her name Cas. Not here. Not in heaven.”

“I love you, Dean. And you love me. Don’t forget it. It’s your strongest weapon. You can stand against Amara.”

Dean’s pulse was pounding now, and he could feel it between his ears. His head was throbbing with it. He wanted to go back to softness, kissing, peace. He closed his eyes and opened them again.

“Cas?” He sat up and looked around, alone in the park. Darkness was sweeping over the park and the wind was picking up. A storm was moving in. The kite nearby swirled in the gale erratically and then plunged to the ground. The earth shook with thunder as it rolled in ahead of the dark rain, a cannon-like boom resounding over the open ground.

Boom.

“Cas?” Dean called out into the wind.

Boom.

“Cas!” he screamed, eyes scanning the approaching dark.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom. “Dean?”

Boom. “Dean!” It was Sam’s voice above the din. Dean sat bolt upright in bed. As he did, headphones slipped from his ears, and he realized that the boom was Sam pounding on the door of his room. His brother was literally yelling his name through the door.

“What?!” he yelled back, heart still racing.

“Food!”

“Why the fuck are you yelling at me?” Dean demanded as he crossed the floor and hurled the door open.

“Well, you weren’t answering. Why the fuck didn’t you answer?”

“Had frickin headphones on man… fell asleep… didn’t hear ya.”

“Oh. Well, you hungry?”

“Always.”

They settled at the table in the kitchen where Sam had a salad and pasta ready. Normally, Sam would give Dean shit about taking only pasta. But he tread lightly tonight. They’d been arguing too much lately as it was.

Dean began to relax as he ate. The dream had been intense… and meaningful. But scary too. Especially at the end. His pulse was still pounding in his ears a little as he settled in and ate.

“I’ve been thinking,” began Sam.

Dean took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. It was meant to be a signal that he didn’t want to get into it. Sam didn’t get it. Or didn’t care.

“We should call Crowley.”

“What?”

“Crowley.”

“Saying it twice doesn’t make it sound any smarter,” Dean said with a bite to his tone, “First Lucifer, now Crowley? If this is God’s plan then why are trying to score so much help from Hades?”

Sam didn’t answer.

“Sam. I’ll say it again. This is a terrible idea. How many times am I gonna have to say it?”

“I don’t know Dean,” shouted Sam, “about as many times as I’m gonna say, ‘Ok, what else we got’?”

Dean had no retort. He speared a meatball and shoved it into his mouth so he wouldn’t feel obligated to speak.

It was in reluctant acceptance of this stalemate that Dean and Sam both hung their heads and agreed to call Crowley. They met him under the cover of night in an area of ill repute and argued voraciously that Sam needed to seek an audience with Lucifer in some kind of controlled environment.

Crowley thought they were insane. He was right. They were reaching far beyond the bounds of logic and reason here. When pressed, they told Crowley what he needed to know. That Amara, the sweet little daughter of destruction he’d been nurturing, was actually God’s sister. Equal to God in terms of raw power, if not wisdom and experience.

Yes, including Crowley was frustrating. But he wasn’t the king of hell for no reason. He was smart. Tactical. Crowley didn’t have to be convinced to save his own skin. He agreed to help the boys find a way to place Sam Winchester in parley with the original dark angel. Lucifer himself. The original fallen one and father of lies.

For Crowley's part, he’d arrange transport into hell and navigation to the “the cage.” What he couldn’t help with were the spells needed to actually manipulate Lucifer’s cage or protect Sam. For that, said Crowley, they’d need the Book of the Damned.

Dean felt his gag reflex kick in before another word was said. He knew what that meant. If the Book of the Damned was in play? Rowena would be involved.

Dean could make his peace with a devil's bargain involving Crowley. But having to rely on Rowena sickened him in a whole new way.

Crowley’s goons found and bound Rowena, bringing her to stand before her son. He managed to convince her to set her baggage aside and join them in their endeavor to bring Sam before Lucifer.

With the foundations of the plan in place, Sam stayed behind to keep an eye on Rowena while Dean returned to the real world – chasing Amara. They had a solid lead now, the bodies in a church she’d decimated were being investigated.

Dean slid into his FBI getup and headed over to investigate. He was just exiting the scene when he felt a tug in his chest. It got his attention and was immediately followed by the tingling sensation of being watched. Amara was near.

He tensed with the feeling and began to follow it – as if it were a physical personification like a dowsing rod. It led him to the park on the corner, which was thrumming with activity. It was here that he lost the direction of the pull. He stood, waiting. Watching. For her. The feeling was unsettling, like the calm before a storm.

Seeing her was always a surprise. She never looked like he expected her to. This time was no exception. She was the embodiment of a woman now. And just Dean’s type, too. Leggy. Endowed. Dark hair, fierce eyes. She allowed him to feel her, allowed her vibrations to reach him. And then she took him.

He glanced about, disoriented by the change in location, much like when Cas would fly with him. A swirling sensation and then presto… he was somewhere else. He looked around. They were on the grassy shores of a dried-up lake. She’d brought him somewhere to be alone. The thought excited him in a sickening way and on the heels of that excitement was fear. His self-preservation instincts were a bit too slow around Amara. 

Against his better judgement, he tried to reason with her. He explained that if her beef was with God then she needed to leave the humans out of it. Taking lives, as she had by the fountain and in the church, was simply not acceptable.

In response, she told Dean that he’s just misunderstood her. She implied that when she devours a soul – it somehow lives on as part of her. She made it sound as though the souls she takes have some kind of warm and happy afterglow for all eternity – within her.

“No pain, no prayer…” she said softly, “…just bliss. That feeling that you have when you’re with me – for everyone. Forever.”

Dean was frustrated by her, and yet he was also enamored by her, drawn to her. And he’d be a liar if he didn’t admit that he’d pondered the possibility of being part of her forever as bliss… that he’d had the thought of letting her have him - just letting her take him… take it all…

Dean had to stop himself cold and hard. He could not allow his mind to wander down that path. It was what she wanted. To surrender even to the idea of it would be the end of them all. He forced himself to abandon the thought of surrender – no matter how she toyed with his emotions and perceptions he had to remain strong. No surrender. He repeated this wisdom loudly to himself, seeking strength from the astuteness of it –

No surrender. No surrender.

He’d been weak with his rebuttal to her, “… it is HIS universe. HIS rules.” Dean had hoped that reminding her of God’s strength would make up for lacking his own. But he felt a little bit stronger now. And he knew she wanted something. Everyone and everything that ever lived wanted something. What did she want? He needed to know. So he asked her.

“What is it exactly that you want? When you make this world of bliss and peace… what’s in it for you?”

“What I deserve,” she answered him unapologetically. “Everything.”

He watched her, waiting for further explanation. But already he was starting to understand.

“I was the beginning. And I will be the end. I will be all that there is,” she told him.

It was so startlingly clear. She would consume everything. Souls first and then all living things. Bit by bit every atom of God’s creation would literally be eaten by her – sucked into her. And there it would remain. As part of her. The bliss she promised was simply to exist within her until the end of time.

It was quite a concept. Different from God’s plan, certainly. God was a builder – an architect. Humans often compare themselves to ants in an ant farm. The description is valid. He watches us from his own comfortable distance. He gives guidance in the form of his word, the Bible, and offers up prayer as an alternative to his presence. But he has no interest in forcing us to be one with him or follow his plan. He simply creates us and gives us the world in which we live. The world is our platform to do what we choose. We can follow his way or not.

God’s reasons for this are unknowable. But his intention is obvious. He gives us the gift of life and then watches to see what we’ll make of it. Perhaps we’re entertainment. Perhaps we’re an experiment. Perhaps we’re a drunken bet. Who knows?

But, God’s way allows humans life, freedom and freewill. Naturally, if there were a side to choose, Dean would choose the side of life and freedom. Yes, he would. Even if the intentions behind it are unknown to him. He wants to choose freewill. Always has.

Things are growing clear now. He’s ready to choose sides. God is a creator. Amara is a destroyer. Where God gives life, she takes it. Where God celebrates choice and watches what we do with it… Amara opens her mouth and sucks it all in. Take. Take. Take. No choices, no freedom, nothing but her unending appetite and those who promise to satisfy it.

Dean is suddenly terrified. More so than ever. She represents the end of all. And he is ill equipped to fight it. Because whether he likes it or not… he wants to join her. He hates it, but it’s true. He feels small and powerless against all that she is. He’s just a man. She is God’s equal with raw, limitless power. And she knows just how to appeal to him… how to pull him in.

The thought tumbles him. **_I will fail._** _I will fail this – just like I’ve failed every other god-forsaken thing I’ve ever cared about._

I. Will. Fail.

Dean turns his back on Amara, unable to hold up any longer under the weight of her eyes. He summons all the strength he has and compels himself to act. Even though he knows it’s futile. It’s not in his nature to back down. Not even when he knows he can’t win.

It is, however, in his nature to accept death in lieu of victory. To go down swinging. He closes his eyes and allows himself a few final thoughts for his loved ones as his fingers curl around the handle of the blade hidden in his jacket.

Mom, Dad, Bobby… I hope to see you on the other side…

Sam. Sweet Sammy. My first and always most loved. Most cherished. Poor Sammy. You never even had a chance did you? Not really.

And Cas. My Cas. I was yours from the moment you laid a hand on me, wasn’t I? All this time we had and I’ve squandered it. I’ve been such a fool.

Dean’s jaw clenches at the waste of it all. No goodbye for Sam. No connection to Cas. All those chances – all those moments – so much wanting and it’s all come to nothing. Dean had never even touched their lips together. Not in real life anyway. Not in a way that matters.

But it’s over now. Dean will not draw another breath, so he takes a deep one now. And he spins, wielding nothing but an earthly blade and the element of surprise.

Turning and arching his body into the blow, he aims true and hopes for some kind of cosmic assistance to aid him. His only real hope hovers nervously in his chest... the lingering memory of a distant promise, one made to him in heaven by an angel of the Lord... _"Dean, you can stand against Amara."_

But, where he should feel the puncture of flesh and the slide of metal into soft tissue, he feels nothing. His hand meets resistance and his momentum is arrested. The blade shatters as if it were glass.

Unfortunately, he’s still alive to revel in the depth of his stupidity, frailty and sheer insignificance. Amara lives. And so does Dean.

“You had to know that was pointless?” she wheedles. She now says aloud, everything Dean had just been thinking. “I know you’re a warrior, and it’s your nature to resist. But I can’t be resisted.” He’s in agreement; practically nodding along as she steps toward him confidently. He watches her open her mouth and he prepares for pain, knowing she’s about to pull him into her. He braces himself.

Nothing. Even she seems surprised by it. But for some reason unbeknownst to him, Dean is still standing. Here. In the face of infinite appetite and the power to take it all.

Dean is just a man. But he’s still standing here. Huh. In the back of his mind, some part of him realizes that Cas had told him he could stand against Amara, but not necessarily that he could destroy her.

Oh shit. His revelry that he’s still alive has clouded him, as have his often distracting thoughts of Castiel. Now, he’s missed her next move and without the preparation of forethought he’s at a disadvantage. He has no ability to step back or maneuver away from her advance. She moves her lips to his and it’s just too easy to close his eyes and meet her there. To let her have this. Let himself have this.

To kiss her.

To bow to her power for a moment and taste what she is.

The feeling that settles into his bones is one of contentment and for a moment, it really is bliss. But it's also cloying, heavy and almost sickening. Reality seeps in slowly, proclaiming the feelings he's experiencing to be false, and when his mind accepts this reality he's suddenly flooded with a sense of wrongness. It ghosts over his skin in a prickling awareness of proximity to danger.

The same Spidey senses that have aided him on hunts and helped him bait women all these years are firing on all cylinders and issuing him a warning of epic proportions. YOU ARE IN DANGER.

Dean hesitates, putting a hand to her hip, not to rest there but to push her away. He stumbles backward and out of her embrace, gaping at what he’s allowed to happen.

“What was that?” he questions – for lack of the ability to conjure a worthy response.

“The future,” she gloats, “the inevitable result of our first meeting. What you’ve been feeling from that first moment… what we both felt… that we’re bonded.”

Dean shrinks back a little. She’s right. They are.

“You’re the one who set me free.”

“That was an accident.”

“It was destiny.”

He wants to argue. But how? There’s nothing he can say. He barely even understands the connection. How can he possibly argue with her about it?

“You bore the mark,” she says with a trace of a smile. “I am the original mark. You and I will be together.”

Dean knows now that he can’t end her. But he also knows that she tried to take him and couldn’t. That has to mean something, but he can’t seem to get his mind around it now – he needs time to think. Time too research; time to talk to Sam and Cas and to figure it out.

But for now, just the knowledge that she’s been stumped is enough. To see that this standoff wasn’t a full victory for her either – it gives him strength. As do Cas' words which linger with him, reminding him that he does carry the power to resist her. 

“No," he responds to Amara, voice getting firmer as he finds his confidence again, "That’s not gonna happen."

“It’s so simple, Dean. We will become one. Why wouldn’t you want that?”

 _Because I have better_ , he thinks. But he’s saved from answering by the appearance of others. They’d been alone in the wilderness a moment ago, but now others have appeared and they call to Amara by name.

Dean glances over, able to cast off the last tendrils of her spell, now that her attention is drawn elsewhere.

Dean takes in the posture of the three men who've joined them here in the middle of nowhere. They have blades. Angel blades. Dean isn’t relieved. There’s only one angel who has ever been a reassurance to Dean. The rest have all been either miserable dicks or mindless followers.

He watches, unbelieving, as the angels order Amara to surrender and threaten her with all the power of heaven. She doesn’t seem concerned.

Dean watches as she finds a new and creative way to kill each of the three that threaten her. His mind is reeling with what she’s able to do. She’d compelled one of them to plunge his blade through his own skull. Dean says a silent prayer that Cas never be in her presence.

Alone again, Dean faces Amara. He can feel it building. The power of heaven. It’s gathering in waves and swirling around like a maelstrom. “It’s coming,” he says to her… as if she can’t feel it too.

“They will smite you!” he says nervously, suddenly overwhelmed by a need to protect her.

She looks at him and seems to read his thoughts and know that he's worried for her, but she looks on him with only pity as she reaches for him. And then he’s back in the park, reeling with the sense of vertigo that accompanies supernatural flight.

The absence of power is what he notices first as he recovers. The adrenaline rush he’s been riding is ridiculous in this environment. There is no danger here. No Amara. No angels, no demons. There are children at play and adults on cell phones. There’s a hot dog vendor.

Dean takes a deep breath to calm himself. Clearly, he's been dumped here. Did she die? Did she fight? _Fuck! The one time I want to feel the connection… the one time I WANT to know what’s happening. Now I feel nothing?_

Dean heads back to the car, grumbling internally. With time, the false sense of concern he'd felt for her safety has abated and curiosity takes it's place. Wondering what had happened after she whisked him away to safety, he stops to grab food and change out of his monkey suit before driving out of town. Having remembered that there's a dried up lake north of town, Dean's thinking perhaps that’s where she’d taken him. He plans to explore the area in the hopes of finding a pile of smoking ash or some other evidence that Amara had been smote by angels.

As he drives, he notices that he’s not feeling well. The sensation of nausea only grows stronger and soon his stomach is rolling. Possibly just from the excitement? Maybe fear? Worry?

Dean glances down at his phone and tries again to call Sam. No answer. His vision is starting to blur and the feelings of fatigue and queasiness are becoming intolerable. Unable to go any further, he pulls over to the side of the road and climbs out of the car.

Fresh air does nothing to aid recovery and he pukes up the lunch he just ate. Afterward he leans up against Baby to wait, hoping the feeling will pass. No such luck. He pukes again and finds himself reduced to mush on the side of the road. His legs are shaky and he can’t even begin to think about getting up.

That’s when he hears Cas. Turning, he sees the angel approach through blurry eyes. He checks Dean over the way a worried mother would examine her small child. Dean's machismo kicks in and he brushes off Cas' careful tending out of habit, trying to get a grip on the many fears and emotions that swirl inside of him. Somehow, even in the worst of times, he always feels better with Cas nearby.

He wants to bridge the gap with his feathered friend. But in their dreams, there’s peace and time and they’re both on the same page. But, here in the real world, things are complicated. There are physical injuries to check for, like Cas is doing now. There are questions to ask, and to answer, and there are plans to be made. There’s also pain. For example, the gut-wrenching dry heaves that continue to spasm as his empty stomach repeatedly tries to expel whatever is making him sick.

Cas explains that he should drive no closer to the site of the smiting. The excessive power that was channeled to earth by heaven is what’s making him sick and the closer he gets, the worse it will be. He's too miserable to actually laugh, but it's funny to hear Cas say, “Last time there was a smiting of this magnitude, Lot’s wife turned to salt.”

“Awesome,” Dean huffs, struggling to stand.

Cas helps him and says, “Dean, you need to go back.”

“No, no,” he argues, “We gotta see if it worked… see if Amara’s alive or dead.”

Dean's bracing against Baby to stay upright. His knees are weak and his stomach is still clenching.

“The fallout of smiting doesn’t affect angels. You go back, I’ll go in alone,” says Cas firmly.

Hearing Castiel say, “go in alone” does something to Dean. He stops arguing as he remembers what Amara had done to the angels who threatened her. He spent a distended moment wanting to beg Cas not to go. But, weakly, he brushes the thought aside.

Cas isn’t like other angels and Dean knows this. Cas has died and been brought back, again and again. He has a higher purpose; that much is clear, even if no one really understands what that purpose is. It's silly to worry that Cas would meet the same fate as the low level angels who’d just tried to take down Amara. Not only is Cas protected… he’s an experienced soldier. He's smart too. He knows better than to walk up to the personification of darkness and demand surrender. Cas will be fine.

Dean reminds himself that Cas is a badass in his own right and doesn’t need a lowly human to worry over him. He nods his agreement to Cas’ plan of separating, saying he’ll go see about Sam. The fact that he hasn’t heard from his brother is of growing concern at this point.

Suddenly noticing that the angel is already walking away, he calls out, “Hey, Cas?” But as his friend turns back to him from ten paces away, he finds himself at a loss for words. The impulse to affirm their love has crossed his mind too late - he can see that now. The time to pull his angel close and press their lips together had come and gone. When they were both on the ground with their faces only been a few inches apart, it would have been so easy to just do it. To embrace him. To acknowledge all that had been said and done in their dreams and make it real.

But the distance that stretches between them now makes it too hard. Or maybe it's not the distance but the harsh reality of wakefulness. Regardless, in broad daylight with the world on the brink of disaster, it seems almost comical. The Darkness is about to devour the earth and he's sitting here nursing a teenage fantasy about having a love affair with an angel. It's ridiculous. So, rather than ponder possibilities, Dean does what he does best: focus on the mission at hand. Cas had turned to him and is waiting for Dean to speak, wondering why Dean had called out to him.

“If she's dead,” he finally says, “bring her body out.” Dean knows he'll never believe this is over unless he sees her body with his own eyes.

“And if she’s not?” asks Cas.

Dean contemplates the question for the duration of a heartbeat, not allowing himself to dwell on the thought long enough to be destroyed by it. He takes a deep breath and answers, “Run.”

Cas nods understanding and turns to go. As he watches him leave, Dean thinks again about doing what he'd promised himself... about calling Cas back to him and declaring his true feelings... kissing Cas for real, consequences be damned. He thinks about it even as he watches Cas walking away and feels acceptance setting in.

This is how it works - he knows that. People have a near death experience and consider all the things that can’t be left unsaid. But as soon as the threat of death is past, they go right back to bottling up their feelings and playing the roles they’ve written for themselves. Dean acknowledges the stupidity of his actions even as he accepts them. Then, a fresh wave of nausea rolls over him and diverts his attention. He’s not sure if the nausea is a result of his feelings for Cas, the smiting sickness, or both. But he knows he needs to get out of here. He climbs back in the Impala and heads back towards the bunker.

As Dean drives, he calls Sam again and gets no answer. The trip to the bunker takes hours even with the hammer down. Sam hasn’t answered his phone once, and Dean is slowly moving from creeping dread to outright panic. When he finally gets home and finds no trace of his brother, he moves from room to room in the bunker calling out for Sam even though he knows he's completely alone. When his phone buzzes, he pulls it out thinking it will be Sam calling. Instead it’s Crowley. This is bad. Dean left Sam with Crowley and there’s only one reason for Crowley to call. Something has happened to Sam.

“You sonofabitch!” he shouts as he puts the phone to his ear. “Where’s Sam???”

“Miss you too, pudding,” snarks Crowley, “and there’s been a bit of a hiccup. You’re brother’s in hell. With Lucifer.”

Dean sees red. He gets a little info from Crowley and then he’s on the move again. Kennesaw is a few hours away and Dean buries the speedometer. He makes good time but still hasn’t heard from Cas when he gets there. He calls, but only gets voicemail. With a sickening feeling in his gut, Dean leaves a message for the angel telling him that he’s going after Sam. In hell.

Then, after a stilted but informative conversation with Billie the reaper, he finds himself standing on the precipice, the entrance, to another dimension.

“Watch your step,” Billie tells him pointedly, “it’s a long way down.”


	5. Our Time In Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place in season 11 and this chapter is the conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to MoniJune for her work and willingness to help me - even at 3 am!

Carrying the only weapon he’s been given in a locked box, Dean steps forward and begins his descent. Time seems more fluid here, and Dean begins to lose track of it as he moves deeper into the bowels of hell. The walls are made of block and torches light the way. He knows he’s traveling a great distance but yet his muscles don’t tire and his mind doesn’t wander. He’s fixated on the prize at the bottom of this metaphorical Cracker Jack box. Sam.

The scent of sulfur permeates everything and is only getting stronger as he progresses. When Crowley looms into view, he’s still appearing as his smarmy vessel. But Dean can smell his demon stink. And here, more than anywhere else so far, Dean is reminded of what Crowley really is.

“Welcome to hell,” says the demon Crowley, as though they're old chums.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean demands.

“Don’t worry about Sam.”

“Oh I’m sorry, have you met me?” retorts Dean, covering his fear with sarcasm.

“I mean," clarifies Crowley, "Lucifer needs the moose, he’s not going to kill him. Probably.”

Dean’s jaw drops a little in shock at the abrasive words, still holding the box. Crowley lifts his chin and encourages Dean to focus on Rowena.

“Great," Dean throws back, "Let’s kill her.”

“Easier said than done,” laments Crowley. “Besides, we need Mother to slam the devil back in the hole.”

“Is she gonna play ball?” barks Dean, loosing his patience with their banter.

“She doesn’t have a choice,” Crowley clarifies, stepping forward to run his hand along the box Dean carries. “It’s called a witch catcher,” he explains as he opens the box, pulling out a leather and metal contraption that looks like it came from a sex dungeon. “Most of these were destroyed after the inquisition, but Billie came through,” he says reverently.

“Yeah, she’s a peach,” Dean retorts, “What’s that thing do?”

“Oh you’re gonna love this,” coaxes Crowley.

And he's right. Watching Rowena hop on one foot at Crowley's command had Dean ready to explode with laughter. But despite the appealing display in front of him, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t laugh, joke or smile. Not until Sam was back by his side.

Dean and Crowley fell back into their old roles as “frenemies” and put Rowena to work. Her spell would extract Sam from Lucifer’s cage as long as Sam didn’t say yes to being a vessel.

Just then, Cas came barging in. Dean’s initial joy at seeing the angel join them was immediately dampened when he started to notice his condition. He was sweaty and panting as if in pain or exerted. He looked unwell.

“Amara,” Cas said as he tried to recover his breath, “she’s alive. She sent this message.”

Dean watched as Cas ripped open his shirt to reveal the words “I am coming,” which had been carved into his chest.

Everyone was stunned into silence. And that’s when they heard it. The sound of Sam, being beaten down in the cage. Dean took off running, following the muffled cries, to locate his brother. He felt Cas on his heels. Behind them, Crowley was shouting a warning, “Don’t...”

Too late, Dean realized why Crowley was shouting. It was a trap. Things had not gone as Crowley had planned and the moment they were in Lucifer’s sight, he was able to snap his fingers and pull them into the cage with him. Looking at the bars of the cage from inside, Dean was frozen in place. Once he turned his eyes to the Prince of Darkness, he could not look away. In his peripheral vision, Dean could see his baby brother on the floor of the cage, beaten and bleeding and trying to stand. At his elbow he could feel Cas beside him. Ever faithful. Ever present in times of trouble. _Godammit._ _Here I am again, at death's door. Even more chances to say or do something have come and gone. Now, I'm staring at certain death. Again. And Cas still doesn’t know how I feel. When will I learn?_

He wants to reach out and take hold of Cas. But he doesn’t. Can’t. And this time it’s not because he’s weak. It’s because he’s strong. He knows he is vulnerable because of his feelings for Cas, just like with his brother. Both Sam and Cas are a weakness that Satan can exploit and Dean will not give the Devil that kind of power. So, he crams it all down. Locks it up tight. Cas' pain will not be used to manipulate Dean.

With resolve, Dean levels his chin and looks at Lucifer with cold eyes despite the fear fills him. This isn’t Amara. There’s no false pretenses aimed a lulling him into submission. There is only power and the palpable desire of this fallen archangel to lay their world to waste. He stalks toward Dean and Cas.

“Scared?” he goads them.

Bravado, the precursor to actual bravery, is the weapon he draws now. “Not even a little,” he answers with a set jaw and believable eyes.

Lucifer is never one to deliver the expected, though, and he has a flair for irony too. So, before the inevitable beat down, they’re subjected to angel-themed disco music. And then it begins. Thankfully, Lucifer is in trapped in his vessel and must fight like a man, rather than use is phenomenal angelic power. Weaponless, he simply starts pummeling with his fists. Dean’s grateful for one thing – at least if he’s destined to die today he can do it fighting at Cas’ side. Maybe that’s the closest they’re meant to come to what Dean’s been imagining.

Dean likes fighting. It’s not a mind fuck. It’s not an unwinnable game. You can see who’s swinging at you and block; hit back. It’s simple. And like Benny had said of Purgatory… it’s pure.

That is, until Lucifer ups his game by playing his trump card. He physically overpowers Dean and holds him by the throat, lifting him from the floor and dangling his life over Sam in much the way that Dean had been afraid Cas’ life would be held over him.

“Alright, Sam,” Lucifer says as he holds Dean high off the ground, “I’m gonna make this real simple. Either you say the magic word, or your brother dies.” And with an exaggerated grin, he looks Dean in the eye and adds, “We both know you won’t let that happen.”

And that’s it. Game over. Sam won’t let Dean die any more than Dean would let Sam die. Sam will break, Dean knows it. He closes his eyes – not wanting to see his brother's face when he says the word.

Because his eyes are shut, he doesn’t actually see his angel, his saving grace, come to his rescue yet again. He hears and feels the weight of Castiel's harsh blow to his fallen-angel brother and finds himself released from the choke hold. Once he's been dropped to the grimy floor of the cage, Dean is free to stagger away. He’s grateful beyond all measure for Cas. Not just because he loves him, but because he’s incredible. In every way.

Dean fumbles to Sam while Cas takes on Lucifer at hand-to-hand combat. It doesn’t last long. Cas is losing. But who could win?

Pain fill Sam’s eyes as he laments to Dean that they can’t win.

“We don’t have to,” says Dean pointedly, “We just have to hang on for a few minutes.” Then he grits his teeth as he listens to Cas take blow after blow as he tends to his brother.

“Come on Rowena,” thinks Dean. “Come on, you bitch!” he shouts through gritted teeth.

And then, just when it looks like Cas is about to be dealt the deathblow, there’s a blinding white light and Dean feels a tingle in his chest that he has no explanation for. As the tingle fades, the silence sets in ominously. The devil appears to gone. Banished. There's no trace of his evil aura - just two men and one beaten down angel left in the cage. Looking around tentatively, Dean sees Rowena standing nearby, looking far more self-satisfied than she has any right to.

“You’re welcome,” she tells them flatly, acknowledging that no one will thank her for this. “Anyone?” she prods.

“Bite me,” huffs Dean.

“I can make her do that,” Crowley teases, trying for camaraderie and falling short as usual.

“So… what now?” asks Sam, probably focusing on the Amara problem despite the lack of recovery time from his beat-down.

“No clue,” Crowley replies, unapologetic.

“We’ll figure it out,” Dean says firmly, a vague promise that he has no idea how to keep.

Their time as a team is at its end, it would seem. Crowley orders them out and they disperse, back to their official position as enemies.  They climb the stairs back to their own dimension and emerge onto the same nondescript street that Dean had entered from. Dean is feeling the beaten all over. He needs a double dose of pain killers, a bottle of whiskey, and a good night’s sleep. He looks back at Cas, wondering why the angel is slowing as Dean and Sam head for the Impala.

“Give you a lift?” he offers Cas, hinting that he'd like Cas to come with them.

“No, you go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

Dean nods. He doesn’t know why, can’t put his finger on it, but for some reason it doesn’t sit well with him that Cas isn’t going to accompany them back to the bunker. He nods and turns away, heading for the car. As he settles into it, he’s wondering why he’s feeling off about Cas.

It's not unusual for Cas to ditch them right after a big event. But he usually offers an explanation when he has to leave them, saying things like, “I must return to heaven…” or, “I must continue my search…” or what-the-fuck-ever it is this time. So, yeah, it’s weird that there’s no explanation of what Cas will be doing as Dean and Sam head home to lick their wounds and plan their next move. 

There have been a few times when Dean has felt “dismissed” by the angel over the years; pushed aside and unimportant. It stings every time. And that, Dean realizes, is what’s bothering him now. Something has changed in him. He’s accepted what he and Cas really are to each other. He’s told Cas in a dream that he was ready to experience it in the real world.

So, the fact that Cas is not joining them in the bunker means that Dean’s missing out on an opportunity. Maybe tonight, after a hot shower and a good meal, he could’ve pulled Cas aside and made it official. Then they could’ve gone to Sam together and let him in on their secret.

But that’s not going to happen now, because he’s been ditched. There’s somewhere else that Cas wants to be right now and Dean fucking hates it.

Sam looks back at Cas, who is just standing on the street and watching them leave. From his position in the passenger seat, he asks Dean if Cas is ok.

“Tough day,” is all Dean can think to answer with.

“Yeah,” agrees Sam.

“You good?” Dean asks his brother.

“I don’t know,” admits Sam. “What if Lucifer…”

Dean cuts him off. He can’t allow Sam to even consider it. He does his best to make sure Sam understands… the darkness being loose in the world is bad enough… adding the devil too it? It’s the worst scenario that can be imagined. It’s a whole new level of nightmare.

Dean checks his rear view mirror as he starts the car and pulls away. Cas is still standing there watching them go. It’s weird. So unlike him. Dean doesn’t know what to make of it.

He thinks on it, but days keep going by with no word. Dean expected to have Cas drop in on him, either in reality, in a dream, or both. So much had passed between them… how could he stay away? But he did.

The sting of the rejection was exacerbated when Sam looked at him and said, “Heard from Cas?”

And it was there, in Sam’s face, the implication from that somehow Dean was the touch point for Cas. He was expected to update everyone on Cas, in much the same way that a night nurse reports to the day nurse about a patient. Even Bobby, when he was alive, had talked that way. It had always been irritating to Dean. But now, with Dean missing Cas like he has been? These kind of questions only made it worse. It was almost easier to have Sam ask him about Amara than Cas these days. Mentions of Amara only brought up fear, anger and confusion. But Cas’ name brought genuine hurt with it, a stabbing pain of rejection that he wasn't used to.

When Sam followed up his Amara question with, “What about Cas, it’s been days and I thought we’d have heard from him by now.” Dean had to wonder if Sam were implying that somehow Cas was avoiding them. Which was absurd. Or was it?

Dean was hurting. And when he hurt, the balm for his wounds was work. So, without leads on Amara, he resigned himself to combing the headlines for cases. When he presented Sam with a possible vengeful spirit case nearby, he wasn't hoping for much more than a diversion. Sadly, it didn’t take long to hone in on the culprit. It wasn’t a vengeful spirit though, it turned out to be a Banshee. They’d never faced one before and to kill it, they’d need a gold knife.

The common thread among victims so far had been their residence at the same retirement home. So, Dean told Sam that he'd go retrieve the needed weapon from the bunker. That would allow Sam to continue searching for the person next targeted for death. 

When Dean entered the bunker and started down the staircase, he heard a noise that slowed him. Hearing another, he drew his gun and proceeded on silent feet. There shouldn’t be anyone here. Dean walked carefully through the corridors with his senses hyper alert and focused on locating the intruder. Following another noise, he moved stealthily with his weapon ready and body tense. The door to a file room was ajar and as he moved to pass through it he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Locked onto that movement, he kicked through the door and trained his weapon on a thick shock of dark hair.

“Cas?” he questioned as he recognized the intruder. Cas’ head perked up, aware, but not answering. “What the hell you doin’, Cas?” he pressed gruffly.

It took a long time for the answer… gut wrenching moments before finally a, “Hello, Dean,” which was said without even turning to greet him.

“Great, yeah,” bristled Dean, noting the mess, “we don’t hear from you for days and then you show up and just start wreckin the joint?”

Moments ticked by, again with no response. Cas got to his feet but still wouldn’t look at Dean. He kept his back to the hunter and sighed, finally saying, “I’m sorry,” before finally turning to face Dean.

“Okay,” said Dean, holstering his weapon. “What, what are you doin?”

“Looking for a spell… something to draw Amara out. But there’s nothing.”

Dean looked around. He pushed an open drawer closed, thumbed awkwardly at a loose piece of paper. He wanted desperately to address the elephant in the room with them, but something was off about Cas. Dean wasn’t sure what it was… perhaps his posture? The way he kept averting his eyes? It was almost as if Cas really _had_ been avoiding him.

Dean's mind seized on that thought… sputtered like an old lawn mower trying to start. He _is_ avoiding me, thought Dean. There was just no other explanation. Cas had needed to look through the archives for a spell, but he didn’t come here until the brothers had left on a hunt. Then, he'd ransacked the place in his rush to find what he needed and get out quickly. It was obvious that Cas was rushing - wanting to be finished here before the brothers returned to the bunker... before he'd have to see Dean. 

Going from _wondering_ if Cas was avoiding him to _knowing_ that Cas was avoiding him was painful. Far more than he would have thought.

“I had her in my sights. She was hurt… I should have ended it,” said Cas, looking at the floor.

“Wait, what?” said Dean stepping closer. “How?”

“Well, I don’t know, there has to be something. I mean, how many more chances are we gonna get?”

Something was wrong here. Very, very wrong. Cas wasn’t himself. His body mannerisms, his tone and even his speech was off. Really off. When did Castiel ever say the word “gonna”???  Never. Cas spoke impeccably. In the early days it used to be annoying. Now it was adorable, just another thing that made Cas who he was.

Dean pitied him though, seeing him out of sorts like this... vulnerable to insecurities and perhaps even a little scared.  Maybe he was being too hard on him. Clearly the angel was as desperate as Dean to find a way to get rid of Amara, and as Dean looked around the room he could see the evidence plain as day. Cas was up against a wall and, having a few failed attempts at Amara under his own belt, he knew the feeling well.

“I know,” he said sympathetically as he moved deeper into the room, “Saying you’re gonna do it is one thing, actually doin' it is something totally different.”

Cas looked at Dean with a question in his eyes. Normally, when confused or intuitively interested in something, Cas had this adorable way of tilting his head to the side. Dean had always likened it to a puppy who’s seen something captivating. Cas was looking at him like that now… just waiting for Dean to explain. But the tilt of the head was off. The eyes weren’t quite innocent enough. It was just… wrong. “What do you mean?” the angel prodded.

Dean didn’t like the way Cas was acting. But he had to chalk it up to frustration and fear. This was bigger than the apocalypse, bigger than rank wars in heaven, or fallen angels, or anything else they’d dealt with so far. This was the possible implosion of the universe, and they were in over their heads. He relaxed his shoulders and admitted, “I’ve had two shots at Amara. I struck out both times.”

Finally, Cas was moving closer. “What are you talking about?” Cas asked him.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Dean. Tell me everything.”

Those words had been spoken to him before. And hearing them now, he couldn’t deny what was happening. He needed Cas. And need equals love. He’d promised himself again and again that he would cross this bridge with Cas. Make their dreams real. And now, here in the bunker, with life far less than ideal and his brother counting the minutes until his return… he was going to do it.

He was going to do it because there would never be a _good_ time to do this. They’d never just be sitting around relaxing and think… what a terrific day to have 'the talk'. They were hunters for fuck’s sake. There was always going to be an enemy stalking them, a case needing their attention, and fear permeating the air. Waiting was pointless. And he needed Cas, now more than ever.

Without another thought he stepped forward and clasped Cas’ face between his two hands. Words failed him, but his body didn’t. Rather than talking, he just leaned in and smashed their faces together. Cas seemed stunned, but Dean wasn’t gentle. He pushed Cas backward until the angel thumped into the desk. Papers whooshed away and fluttered to the floor. Dean moved his hands to the angel’s shoulders and shoved him back, pressing his body between Cas’ legs and spreading them wide as he leaned forward into his angel. Years of pent up hope and frustration and confusion and desire were simmering under the surface of him and the moment their lips touched it boiled over. 

There was too much built up tension, and Dean could not hold back and be sweet. He was desperate. Cas’ eyes were wide with surprise as he was bowled over and pressed back into the hardwood. Dean had always loved the way the angel looked at him – with intensity. Those eyes were as deep and unfathomable as the roaring sea.

“Need you, Cas,” he said urgently between kisses. He didn't take his eyes from the ones locked on his as he forcefully ripped open his lover’s shirt. 'Need you' was their code for “I love you,” and he thrilled with knowing that even without hearing the actual words, Cas would know what he meant.

“I missed you," he added, watching Cas' eyes as understanding washed over him, "You can’t stay away like that,” he growled. “Not anymore.” With Cas having recovered from the shock of Dean's sudden outburst, his eyes took on a sparkle of amusement. Dean pulled on the loose tie and tugged it up over Cas’ head and was rewarded with a wide smile. The moment of surprise was over and Dean's angel had grown responsive.

If Dean had known how easy this would be, he'd have made the move a long time ago. He should have known it wouldn't be complicated; that they didn't need to say much. This wasn’t Lisa. This was Cas. Cas who had marked Dean when he raised him, answered the few prayers he'd ever uttered, and died for him more than once. Between Dean and Cas, actions had always spoken louder than words.

Now, with tie tossed aside and shirt ripped open, Cas was breathing heavily and reaching for his belt. “Dean,” he said roughly in that deep voice that haunted his best dreams. Dean answered by locking his lips over Cas’ and plunged his tongue in deep. He rolled his hips in the vee of Cas’ legs, and the moment Cas’ tongue slid up into his mouth he sucked it hard.

Dean was aching, wanting and needing from having waited way too long to take what was his. And Cas was his. He knew that now. Dean was for Cas and Cas was for Dean. This was forever, there was no need to rush.

But, Dean was greedy. He had the rest of his life to explore sweet and lazy kisses in heaven and on Earth with Cas. But right now? He wanted to put out the raging inferno that had been building inside him. He had a throbbing rock of a cock between his legs, and he needed to bury it in something warm and wet. He was vibrating from head to toe with need and with his new lover panting in his ear, there was no reason to hold back. A lust like he'd never known with another was pulsing through his veins and along with it was a certainty that this was exactly what he wanted and needed. He'd been carefully avoiding his feelings about Castiel for far too long and now, at long last, the object of all his forbidden desires was under him, responding to him, reciprocating with him, giving to him and owning him. It was almost more than he could bear. 

Flashes of memories exploded behind Dean's closed eyelids ~ kissing on the bench in the snow, bare legs rubbing together in the tropical waterfall, rolling together in the green grasses of another man’s heaven, even sweaty and gasping in the backseat of the Impala. All were special in some way, but they were either dreamed or imagined. But now… finally… this was happening. In the real world.

The strength of the arms that clutched to him and the brush of stubble against Dean’s neck sent exquisite shivers down his spine and when his hands fumbled downward they clawed into rumpled dress slacks. His palm found the heat it was seeking and took possession of Cas' cock. Dean wrapped his lusty fingers around the weight of it and found himself giddy with joy. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to hold it until he'd taken it in his hand.

Dean tore his mouth from Cas’ lips and plunged it down on the thick dick he was gripping tightly. It was bigger than he’d imagined.

 _Shit… when did I imagine that?_ he thought; but clearly he had.

And now, bent over and slurping sloppily as he tried to train his mouth to suck a dick on the fly – he felt eager hands grab his shirt and jacket from behind and pull it up to run hot fingers over the smooth skin of his back.

Rough hands tugged Dean loose from the wet cock he was sucking so they could help him shuck off his jacket, shirt and tie. And then, Cas was on him again. Kisses and licks trailed around his neck and a moan slipped out without his permission, but Dean didn’t give a fuck. Let Cas hear how much he wanted to do this. They were going to be together forever… who cares to have any shame?

Dean was dragging in heavy breaths between kisses and soon, Cas had his hands on him. The angel was strong and assertive as he pushed Dean back and shoved off the desk. Dean chuckled as he watched Cas initially try to hold up his pants as he moved and then decide to just drop them. Cas shook his legs one at a time and stepped out of his pants, toeing his shoes off as he went, never taking his eyes off of Dean.

Dean was grinning like a fool as he watched Cas take off a sock, take a step, and then take off the other. Dean backed up a bit, still grinning, and saw Cas’ face spread into a feral smile… a sexy smile that Dean read as, “Two seconds without my hands on Dean Winchester is two seconds too long.”

He held eye contact and waited as Cas took the last few steps towards him, naked and glorious. The angel had been hiding quite a sexy vessel under that trench coat. Dean cupped his crotch and then unzipped as Cas stepped up to him.

Cas reached out and then there were two hands on his dick and Cas was holding it as if it belonged to him and no one else. Dean's body reacted by lighting another fire in him. This one was deep inside, smoldering, and it teased at him as Cas massaged his groin and used his free hand to guide Dean backwards towards the door. He moved with Cas, faces close, sharing air and stealing kisses as they staggered out into the hallway of the bunker.

Dean thought they were working their way to his room… or perhaps Cas’ room which was closer. But no, Cas always managed to surprise Dean. He found himself being steered backwards into the kitchen and spun around. It was disorienting to be tossed around so effortlessly when he wasn't used to it. Dean was used to being the man that spins a lady around and bends _her_ over the counter. Not the other way around. But, now that it’s happened? He's found that he doesn't mind.

In fact, after decades of bedding women, it's exciting to be with a partner who is his equal in strength. He doesn’t have to be careful, or sweet. He likes it being a little rough and clearly Cas does too. Dean had fantasized about Cas – especially lately – but this tryst has put all previous daydreams to shame.

Dean felt sturdy hands clamp down on his jeans and then with a jerk, his pants were around his knees. He kicked them off, getting rid of boots as he went. And, the entire time he was working his pants off, there was a rough hand reaching around and squeezing his throbbing cock.

“Ugghh,” came out of his mouth when he felt his legs kicked apart and Cas pushing forcefully up behind him. “Fuck, Cas,” Dean grunted as his lover shoved a pile of Sam’s fru-fru coffee shit out of the way and pushed him forward over the counter. Cas’ hands settled firmly on his hips and lifted, guiding him roughly into arching his back as his ass was positioned high in the air. Very aware of the nakedness of this moment and the vulnerability that went with it, Dean tried to summon the will to drop his rear back down. He thought, if only for a split second, about turning around and telling Cas that he wasn't ready for this and they'd need to do it some other way... some other place.

But, as the moment drew out longer and his body refused to relent, Dean realized how pointless it was to fight this urge. He wanted it, and there was no denying it. He'd do anything Castiel asked of him. Anything. He'd drop to his knees and suck dick til he choked, he'd bend himself into any position and take what he was given. He'd hoist his legs up in the air or turn over and spread his cheeks wide, leaving himself open to Cas' whim. At the request of his angel, Dean would gladly turn his ass in the air like he just had, and then he'd wait patiently, like he now was, to let his lover do whatever he wanted to do with it. Hell, he'd even say the words if his man needed to hear them. He'd make himself vulnerable and he'd let Cas see it, own it. Own him. Give it, take it. Want more, always more.

As he panted onto the cool counter top, Dean could hear cabinet doors opening and closing around him, and he was missing the attention of his new lover. But, there was still one firm hand gripping his ass cheek in a silent command to stay still. So he did, waiting silently but for his elevated breathing.

The next thing he knew, there was a bottle of olive oil being set on the counter next to his face, and he had only a few breaths to contemplate it’s significance before he felt Cas step back up behind him. Next thing he knew, there was a well-oiled hand on his dick and it was coaxing him towards orgasm with a talent Dean envied. Cas sure knew what he was doing. On the heels of that thought was a new sensation the likes of which he'd never experienced before, or even imagined. Slick fingers sliding down his ass crack.

Dean clenched for a moment, but as fingertips skimmed over his puckered hole, he found himself moaning for more and shoving back wantonly, his body all but begging to be fucked. The thought of it wasn’t disturbing at all. In fact, he found himself hoping for it, picturing it, and feverishly desiring that he’d be a good lay for Cas.

They may be tearing up the bunker right now, but this was their first time and he wanted Cas to enjoy it as much as he did.

“Fuck!” he cried out again as he felt fingers pushing in. He jerked his head back and made to stand up, but Cas flattened a hand to his back right between his shoulder blades and shoved him back down. He smiled as his cheek pressed back down against the counter and his mind flashed back to a beating Cas had handed him in alley once, years ago. It had been merciless. And deserved.  But his dick had taken notice and wished for more at the time, twitching noticeably as a punishment he deserved had been meted out for him.

Back then, he’d hoped Cas wouldn’t notice how much he'd liked it. Now, he wondered if Cas actually had. And, he suspected it may have given Cas something to think about over the years.

“Dammit Cas, Fuck!” he growled outloud as more rough fingers pushed in alongside the first. The action had surprised him, but the resulting shudder that slithered up his spine found him shoving his ass back into Cas’ fingers and hoping for more. “Yeah, Cas,” he growled, voice low and rasping with desire, “I want more.”

Dean’s dick felt neglected now, smashed against the cabinets and throbbing. He reached down to try and stroke it but it was difficult with Cas' weight crushing him forward against the flat surface. Suddenly, there was an arm snaking around his middle and another at his shoulder. He was being flung again, abruptly pivoted and shoved from counter to table. He landed on his elbows and cursed again, but he could definitely see why he’d been moved. The height difference between the two surfaces had changed everything. He was bent over more now and on some level he knew what he must look like, spread out on the table like jelly on toast with a throbbing pink bud bared to the room and twitching to be used. But it was hard to care about that when all he wanted in the world was for Cas to push himself into that hole.

Dean felt empty and needy inside, practically ravenous. Fingers weren’t enough, not even close. He needed a deeper connection to Cas, and he would soon have it. He gripped the table and shoved his ass back hard against the body behind him, spreading his legs farther as he silently prayed for Cas to just take him already.

Moving one hand downward, Dean again found that the table was better than the counter. Without the cabinets in the way, he could easily jack his throbbing cock now as he whispered demands for Cas to fuck him. When Cas complied and began to breach him, the pain was swift and immediate. But, he didn't hesitate. He’d asked for this… demanded it... and as uncomfortable as he may be at this moment, he still wanted it. There was no denying it. He wanted to feel Cas moving inside him, wanted the connection, wanted to be claimed and owned. He'd not trade this off for anything else.

For a split second he almost laughed as the thought occurred to him that it might be nice if Cas' cock were a bit smaller and less glorious. With the absurdity of that in mind, Dean gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut, accepting that this was Cas. All of him. Dean endured as he was opened wide - inch after inch pushing deep inside him. When it finally slowed to a stop with his body fully impaled and his cheeks buttressed up against the solid body behind him, Dean found himself weak-kneed with tears stinging the corners of his eyes as he worked to even draw a steady breath.

He'd never experienced anything like this before and was stunned by how little thought he'd given to this act when considering his feelings for Cas and what he'd wanted their relationship to be. However, despite the strain on his body and his sagging erection, there was still something reverberating deep in his core that enticed him to continue. He gulped down a few more breaths and found that as they waited, poised on the brink with his back to Castiel's chest, his body was loosening. His muscles had begun to relax and in the quiet moment they were sharing, he realized that this was it. This was the connection he'd been craving.

This was he and Cas, joined together, sharing something that was just for them. No one else would ever feel Dean like this. Dean noticed that breathing was coming easier now and that he could feel Cas behind him, skimming lips over the skin between his shoulder blades. Soon enough, there were fingers tickling down his side and up under his belly. He smiled at the playfulness of the moment, and when those fingers began teasing at his flaccid cock, Dean's smile widened into a grin. Cas' body was warm on him and Dean's dick quickly remembered how turned on he'd been just a few moments ago... how much he'd wanted this.

Behind him, Dean could both feel and hear the action of Cas reaching out to take the oil in hand again. A moment later, he felt the ooze as a copious amount was poured into his crack. It rolled down towards the place of their joining and the tickle incited sent a shiver of pleasure up his spine. Slowly, Cas began backing out of him and continued to pour a thin stream of oil over his stretched hole as he moved slowly out and back in, just an inch or so. The push back in was exhilarating this time, a slippery slide that teased his cock from half-massed back to rock-hard in just a few small thrusts. Cas abandoned Dean's dick then, leaving to swing slowly back and forth, heavy beneath his belly. His free hand seemed to have gravitated to Dean's tender entrance where he soon felt fingers massaging around his overstretched hole, laving viscous liquid around the edges and up inside him.

"Yes," he heard himself whisper as the want began building again. "Yeah, Cas, yeah," he encouraged as the thrusts stretched out longer and he started to really enjoy the feel of Cas' wide shaft pulling out and pushing back in, deeper and deeper each time. This. This was what he'd wanted. Needed. Cas was all his in this moment, no one's thoughts straying to dark things or life beyond the two of them. There was nothing between them now but want and fulfillment and promises so big that they didn't need to be spoken, only felt.

The two were moving together now, Deans hand having reached down to tend to his engorged cock while he rocked forward and back on the length of his lover, his belly on the table and his ass back up in the air encouraging Castiel to give him more. And more. And more.

Before he knew it, Dean was moaning aloud. Deep within him there was something stirring. It was a humming, like an electric current, and the buzz of it was rippling out from it's center, down low near his balls. It was growing more powerful with each thrust, and as it grew, Dean's own hand sped up to jack him faster. As they built together, Cas grew more careless with him and Dean began to encourage him vocally. The playful fingers from before we gone now and clamped down on his hips for control while the angel thrust continually harder and deeper.   

Dean could feel Cas building towards his end and wanted to meet it with him. With Cas bending forward over his back, Dean would occasionally feel drops of sweat dripping on him. Then, when hot breath ghosted across the wet spots, it turned them cold and sent a new set of shivers running up his spine.

“Cas," Dean called out, feeling his stomach dip and his balls pull up tightly, pulsing in time with their thrusts.

"Dean," Cas answered back, his voice breaking with the exertion of all he was giving as he fucked in hard and fast. Each time that Cas rammed into him, Dean felt himself lifted, his heels coming up off the floor with the force of it. He was moving on the table now like a rag doll and each time he flopped forward a jolt of pleasure would snap through him, each greater than the last until he could take no more. Before he knew it he was calling out Cas' name again - once as a clipped shout when he felt himself explode and shoot hot cum from his tip, and then repeatedly in whispers and moans as he was fucked smoothly through several smaller waves of pleasure, each sliding through him like a hot knife through butter. 

Cas continued to thrust until he came too, and even the dull ache that had begun to build after Dean had come was pleasurable. He endured the pounding with his legs shaking from the effort of holding his ass up - an offering to his angel - Dean's silent permission to take all that he had and more, for no reason but that it gave pleasure to the one he needed above all others.

He’d never had sex like this before. Ever. He was satisfied in a way he couldn't have put into words even if he tried. Completely fucked out. Stripped bare, taken, and had. Somehow, he felt salaciously dirty and used while also wholly accepted and loved at the same time. After a lifetime of hook-ups, affairs, and even love in a committed relationship, he'd found something that managed to surprise him with even more. He was at a loss for words and completely silent when he felt Cas cum inside him.

When Cas pulled out, Dean managed to get his feet back under him and force his spaghetti legs to bear his weight. He couldn’t help but share a huff of laughter with Cas when their eyes met. They were a mess, both of them sticky and sweaty and sagging with blissful exhaustion. Castiel's cock was slowly starting to droop and it dripped oil on the floor in large spatters. Dean's abused ass was dripping too, a mixture of Cas' milky spend and their unconventional lube. Dean noticed that Cas was averting his eyes, probably just as overwhelmed as he was. 

For Dean though, bravado always picked up where his real abilities failed him. So, as he and Cas faltered a little in the awkward moments that followed the abating endorphin rush, he was able to at least appear confident as he moved to the paper towel dispenser and began cleaning the mess from between his legs. Cas followed his lead which left them both more presentable, but still naked and in need of a shower as they grabbed beers from the fridge.

He knocked his bottle top off on the counter like a bad ass… totally preening for Cas. Then, blushing at the absurdity of it, he bent down to retrieve his pants and put them back on. The jizz that rolled out of him at that moment was a surprise and he laughed out loud as he carried his pants back over to the paper towel dispenser and began his second round of clean up.

Obviously trying to even the score, Cas grabbed a handful as well and bent to clean up the spunk that was cooling on the floor under the table. They both laughed again when Cas threw away the half empty bottle of oil.

“Guess I better add olive oil to the grocery list, huh?” he joked to Cas, “and maybe some lube.”

They chuckled once more, but, as the afterglow started to fade, Dean remembered the real world. There was a Banshee coming for someone in a few short hours. He needed a gold knife and to get back on the road. He finally tugged on his pants and took his beer with him, heading back to the file room. For a moment he surveyed the mess before deciding that there was no time to deal with it now.  Cas was picking up his clothes from around the room. It was hard to admit it as he watched Cas, but despite all that had just transpired between them, Cas still seemed a little bit _off_. Dean worked not to dwell on it as he turned toward the room where the cataloged weapons were boxed and labeled. He figured that’s where the gold blade would be.

As he turned to go, he heard Cas say, “Dean?”

“Yeah?” he answered, turning back to his new lover.

“You said before that you’d had chances at Amara. What happened?”

“I tried to kill her.” he answered honestly, all pretenses unnecessary given their new intimacy. He knew there was no need to tell Cas that his efforts had been half-hearted at best. Cas would deduce that from his tone. Surprisingly, Dean watched his angel forgo the honesty that he'd been expecting, given their new level of intimacy, and make an excuse for him.

“Well, the two of you are connected somehow by the mark,” Cas said arbitrarily.

“It’s more than that,” Dean said, trying again for the honesty that he expected from their new dynamic.

“Attraction?” asked Cas. Dean didn’t want Cas to feel bad, but how could he not be completely honest now? He had to tell Cas everything and trust him to understand.

“Dean,” said Cas, drawing closer.

“I know,” he admitted, looking away. “Attraction… connection… it scares me.” When he was able to bring his eyes up to meet Cas, he waited for reassurance... like Cas had given him in their heaven. He was waiting for Cas to say, “I love you, and you love me. She has no power over you.” But Cas said nothing. So Dean went on to say, “I don’t know if I can resist it.”

Cas reached out, put a hand firmly on Dean's shoulder and squeezed. This had always been something between them, the shoulder squeeze, it was meant to be a reassurance. And whatever was being said while a shoulder was being squeezed was always valuable – often holding more than one meaning. The shoulder squeeze was both a reassurance and physical sign to pay close attention. Dean leaned into it for a moment before his intuition took notice of something and his blood ran cold.

Cas was still talking, but Dean was no longer listening. His pulse was pounding in his ears and the room was pitching side to side. For a moment he thought he may actually pass out. The signs had been there all along, but he’d discounted them because he didn't see the signs for what they were. He'd mistaken Castiel's odd behavior as signs he needed to read regarding their relationship. He'd been trying to decipher whether Cas still wanted him or not. Now, his body was screaming on the inside as two streams of thought ran through his mind simultaneously. One was screaming _wrong arm you fucking_ _impostor,_  while the other was chanting _poker face, Dean, don't let on that you know_.

It was all Dean could do not to knock that phony hand off his shoulder and draw his weapon. Dean forced his face not to crumble under the weight of his realization that this wasn't Castiel. This _thing_ that he'd just given himself to was some unholy thing that looked like Cas but wasn't.

Thank fuck! His phone was ringing… that gave him a reason to break eye contact. Cas’ hand dropped away from his shoulder on its own and Dean immediately stepped away from (CAS?) and began moving across the room. Sam was urgently trying to tell him something but the two voices in his head were still yelling at him… vying for his attention. He needed a moment to process all this. But he had an enemy to his back, and Sam’s voice in his ear. He was an easy target here – inside their fortress where he’d been so very foolish to let down his guard.

Dean pushed out of the file room and headed for the library to dig into the archives for the info Sam needed. Plus, putting a few dozen yards between him and the enemy at his back was helping him get his wits about him.

While he flipped through books, he also quieted his mind. He had no idea who was walking around looking like Cas and exercising liberties at the bunker. But it would do him no good to let the fiend suspect that his cover was blown. Thanks to Gadreel, Dean was now an expert in covert operations within the bunker. He would prove himself smarter this time, he hoped.

His Spidey senses tingled and he knew, without turning, that he was no longer alone. The fiend was behind him again. From the corner of his eye Dean could see him now, skulking in the periphery. Dean gave Sam the info he needed and then said, “I’m on my way,” loud and clear. It was to be the excuse he needed to leave the bunker. Alive.

Hanging up, he turned and said, “Cas, I gotta get back to Sam.”

Cas nodded, pretending to be interested in a book he was flipping through. Dean recognized the behavior now for what it was. Avoidance. Whoever this was, they were fearful that too many looks in the eye and Dean would recognize a difference. Whoever this was… whatever this was… they were worried that Dean would discover them if he looked too long. Perhaps that was also the reason Dean had been continually positioned to look away from Cas while they fucked. 

Dean gave a full body shiver as the thought occurred to him. He’d finally taken the plunge with Cas. All these years of trying to hide his feelings or ignore them. So much deliberation about their relationship. All the thinking, dreaming, fantasizing about how it would be. Then, when he’d finally crossed that bridge and given himself to Cas… he’d been fucked by someone else. It was sickening.

Dean worked to quiet himself and mustered up the strength to say goodbye to Impostor-Cas. Not wanting to further complicate things later, when Sam returned to the bunker with him, Dean asked Cas to keep their hook-up and discussion a secret. Just between them. Imposter-Cas had agreed. But his parting words to Dean had gutted him and left him terrified.

“Dean, the next time you face Amara, you won’t be alone.”

What the fuck did that mean? Dean nodded, “Thanks, Cas.”

And then he turned to go. As he tore down the highway, hurrying to get the gold blade to Sam before dark, he mulled over everything. He decided not to tell Sam about any of this. When he got to the retirement home… it would be business as usual. To figure out exactly what Cas really was or who was possessing him, it was best to keep him close. Watch him close. If Sam were told the truth, it would be even harder to keep the secret and not let the fake-Cas know he'd been spotted.

Plus, there was always the possibility that Sam wasn’t Sam either. He’d been pushing so hard lately with an agenda geared towards using Lucifer to stop Amara. It was possible that Sam was being convincingly played by some other entity that had a stake in getting Sam’s meat suit to the cage and bringing Lucifer out in it.

Dean couldn’t help the cold shiver that snaked up his spine – again and again. It happened every time his mind pondered his little tryst today and got curious about who or what he’d actually fucked. The urge to vomit was overwhelming and about twenty miles down the road, he gave in and pulled over to throw up.

Leaning against baby on the side of the highway, Dean tried to console himself. It wasn’t such a big deal. He’d had tons of meaningless fucks in his life. This was just one more. It didn’t matter. He kept telling himself that, but it didn’t help.

The problem was, it did matter. He loved Cas. He gave himself to Cas. He’d wanted it to be Cas. And it wasn’t. Now, maybe it never would be. Dean swallowed the urge to puke again as he realized that Cas may already be gone. It was possible that he’d already lost his angel.

The bunker was eerily quiet as Dean settled in to sleep that night. Non-Cas had left shortly after he and Sam had returned from the Banshee hunt. Dean had made a solid effort to override his nausea at the creature’s presence and focus on stealthily watching what items he examined and what files he accessed. Once Not-Cas had left, Dean focused on his work single mindedly, following the paper trail from one file room to another and then to the library. He’d made a few observations but didn’t write them down anywhere for fear of discovery.

At first, the idea of crawling into bed had been abhorrent. Sleeping would leave him so vulnerable if Not-Cas returned. But the more he thought it over, the more he realized that whatever was wearing Cas’ skin wasn’t out to harm them or it would have done so. Dean, of course, had been as vulnerable as a man can be – bent naked over a table and locked in the throes of passion. He'd been an easy target. Especially since they’d fucked within arm’s reach of a wooden block full of various knives and cleavers. But whatever was riding Cas’ skin had not tried to harm Dean. It had even tried to reassure him about Amara. Dean was certain there was a clue in that, but the significance of it evaded him.

Sam had been vulnerable too – napping on the couch as Not-Cas pored over research by lamplight and Dean had noticed that the imposter didn’t bat an eye towards the younger Winchester. Clearly they weren’t in any mortal danger. But the same was not true for Cas.

Depending on what kind of creature Not-Cas was, the real Cas may be alive and imprisoned somewhere or dead already. Or, worst case scenario, he was alive and trapped inside his own mind – screaming, pleading for help that wasn’t coming. The thought sickened Dean. As did any thoughts of the sex he’d had, which was even worse when he imagined Cas being trapped inside himself and having to watch it happen.

Dean forcefully rolled over and worked to banish those thoughts from his mind. They’d do no one any good – least of all him. He needed to start thinking more analytically. Dean began backtracking his mind, revisiting his various interactions with Cas. He wanted to see if he could zero in on the last time he was absolutely certain that Cas was Cas. Aside from the dreams, he’d last been with Cas on the day that Amara had been smote.

He remembered Cas in hell – rushing to them with a warning carved into his skin. He’d fought side by side with Cas that night. It felt like Cas. But then again, that night was also the night that Cas had ditched Dean with no explanation. It hadn’t felt right, and Dean had a feeling that Cas had already been Not-Cas at that time.

So, he backtracked to earlier that day when they’d been roadside together. Dean replayed their interactions in his mind with a new perspective now. He remembered Cas explaining the “smiting sickness.” A smile broke across his face and he laughed out loud remembering Cas… trying to shove a finger in his mouth, “I’m going to take your temperature.”

Yep. That was Cas. 100% adorable Cas. As the laughter faded, his chest grew tight thinking of all he’d lost.

“Dammit, Cas,” he whispered against his pillow, “where the fuck are you?”

Working to stay focused, Dean realized he now had a time window. He had narrowed it down to about 8 hours where Cas, the real Cas, had gone missing. It had happened at some point after they’d separated and Cas had gone to investigate Amara. The fact that she’d left her mark on him as a message spoke volumes. Had she somehow emptied Cas’ body and filled him with a portion of herself? Or perhaps with one of the souls she’d previously consumed that would now do her bidding from inside Cas’ body? He couldn’t be sure of anything, but she was at the top if his list for suspects.

Also on the list were Crowley and Rowena as they both had something to gain by controlling Cas. Perhaps this was a spell of some kind. Would Rowena have put a spell on Cas in hopes of infiltrating the bunker to search for something she needed? That was plausible. 

Dean continued to consider the possibilities until his mind was spinning in overdrive. Once he realized he was thinking in circles he pulled out the whiskey. That’s the only way sleep was going to be had tonight. It was almost dawn already.

As Dean downed his second glass and felt his limbs begin to relax, his mind wandered to Cas again. He wished he could take back what had happened today. He hated that he’d given it up like that to someone besides Cas.

For some reason, his mind flashed back to his talk earlier that day with Mildred. Working a case was always more rewarding when you truly liked the people you had saved, and Mildred was one cool chick. And she’d seen it on him… the way he was mooning over Cas. She’d encouraged him to follow his heart. And because Dean respected her, he took her advice.

Thinking of his angel now, in bed with his covers gathered around him, he promised himself that if he ever found Cas – in any way – in any form – he would do NOTHING else until he’d pulled his friend into his arms and made his intentions clear.

And, this time he wasn’t going to say ‘I need you’ and leave it to Cas to figure out his meaning. He would go the distance. He’d look his angel in the eye, pull him close and tell him in no uncertain terms, “I love you.”

Burrowing deeper into his bed, Dean whispered it now. Made it a prayer. “Cas, I don’t know where you are buddy, but if you can hear me, I love you.”

 

 

The End. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story took place in season 11, and this chapter was the conclusion. We've diverged from canon enough to see Destiel come to fruition and as this chapter ends, we find ourselves still on the timeline of season 11 during the events of "Into the Mystic". From here, the story will lead wherever the supernatural writers take it. 
> 
> Will Dean figure out who is riding in Cas’ skin? Where is Cas and what will happen to him? If Dean is able to rescue his angel, will he have the courage to make it real between them? 
> 
> I had planned to watch the rest of the show as if the events in this story actually took place. It seemed like more fun that way. But, when I wrote this, I honestly thought that SPN would end after season 11. Silly me. 
> 
> Maybe I'll write my own ending someday, like, if the show is still going in Season 15 or 20?

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment to let me know what you think of the story?


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